


Suikovember 2020

by Team_Two_Cats



Series: Suikovember 2020 [1]
Category: Gensou Suikogaiden, Rhapsodia | Suikoden Tactics (Video Game), Suikoden I, Suikoden II, Suikoden III, Suikoden IV, Suikoden Series (Video Games), Suikoden Tierkreis, Suikoden V
Genre: Angst, Animal Transformation, Banquets, Confessions, Cooking, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Festivals, Fluff, Food, Gen, Heist, Horse Racing, M/M, NB/F - Freeform, Other, Rivalry, Time Travel, Training, suikovember, technical difficulties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 10:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 21,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27349438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Team_Two_Cats/pseuds/Team_Two_Cats
Summary: Let's do this thing!Prompts taken from: https://twitter.com/cookiekrumel/status/1322508423519297537/photo/1(See notes in chapter 1 for chapter prompts and tags)
Relationships: Emily/Sanae Y (Suikoden), Goesch/Kyle (Suikoden), Hugo (Suikoden III)/Caesar Silverberg, Kamandol/Gen (Suikoden), Lo Wen/Oulan (Suikoden), Pesmerga/Yuber (Suikoden), Selma/Marica? (Suikoden), Wakaba/Ayda (Suikoden)
Series: Suikovember 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2019115
Comments: 24
Kudos: 6





	1. Beautiful Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Ch01: Beautiful Morning (Goesch/Kyle [M/M, Teen])(during S5)  
> Ch02: Family (Lucia & Hugo [Gen w/implied Hugo/Caesar, Gen])(after S3)  
> Ch03: In The Headquarter (Lazlo & Kyril [Gen, Gen])(during Tactics)  
> Ch04: Mischief (Krin, Ledon, Juppo, Sydonia, & Kasumi [Gen, Gen])(during S1)  
> Ch05: Duel (Pesmerga/Yuber [M/M, Teen *Major Character Death*])(after S2)  
> Ch06: Rivalry (Megion & Diulf [Gen, Gen])(during Tierkreis)  
> Ch07: Banquet (Viki & Little Viki [Gen w/implied Viki/OC F/F, Gen])(during S1-5)  
> Ch08: Sailing (Kamandol/Gen [M/M, Teen])(during S1)  
> Ch09: Hunting/Fishing (Wakaba/Ayda [NB/F, Teen])(during GensoS1)  
> Ch10: Back In Hometown (Snowe [Gen, Gen])(after S4)  
> Ch11: Drinking/At The Tavern (Lo Wen [Gen w/implied Lo Wen/Oulan F/F, Teen])(during S2)  
> Ch12: Outfit Swap (Thomas & Budehuc [Gen, Gen])(after S3)  
> Ch13: Magic/Rune Mishap (Norma & Ernst [Gen, Gen])(during S5)  
> Ch14: Role Swap (Barts & Gordon [Gen, Gen])(during S3)  
> Ch15: Crossov er (Selma/Marica? [F/F, Teen])(during Tactics)  
> CH16: Cooking Contest (Mukumuku [Gen, Gen])(during S2)  
> Ch17: Youngsters (Emily w/ light Emily/Sanae Y [Gen, Gen])(during S3)  
> Ch18: Elders Hanging Out (Many [Gen, Teen])(during S1)  
> Ch19: Plotting (Eleanor/Graham [M/F, Teen])(after S4)  
> Ch20: Night Before Final Battle (Alhazred [Gen, Teen])(during S5)  
> Ch21: Recruiting (Riou & Taki [Gen, Teen])(during S2)  
> Ch22: Shopping (Hugo w/implied Hugo/Caesar [Gen, Teen])(after S3)  
> Ch23: Redemption (Milich & Kwanda [Gen, Teen])(during S1)  
> Ch24: Clash (Yovel/Roberto [M/M, Teen])(during Tierkreis)  
> Ch25: Nostalgia (Andarc & Seneca [Gen, Teen])(after Tactics)  
> Ch26: Rebellion (Johnny Lunchbox [Gen, Teen])(during S3)  
> Ch27: Broken Heart (Nick/Yoran [M/M, Teen])(after S5)  
> Ch28: Healing (Zahra, Eunice, Diiwica [Gen, Gen])(during Tierkreis)  
> Ch29: Reunion (Nanami & Pilika [Gen, Teen])(after S2)  
> Ch30: Farewell (Leknaat [Gen, Teen])(Before S6)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goesch watches the sunrise over Ceras Lake, and enjoys a quite moment with his boyfriend.

Dawn over water. Goesch still isn’t used to it. All that blue. Some nights he still falls asleep on the ledge near his gardens, listening to the lap of the water against the castle.

Back in Lordlake there is water now. Clean water. Fishermen go out every morning, their boats repaired, their spirits kindling into something bright, hopeful. It’s a kind of magic—the magic of water.

“Hey babe,” comes the voice from the shadows of the castle, and Goesch turns away from the dawn, watches Kyle slide out into the light. The rising sun catches his blond hair like a burning halo, his eyes jewels that sparkle. Goesch can’t help but smile, watching him approach, his body a weapon, always taut, always ready.

“You could have woke me,” Kyle says, coming up behind him, sliding hands around Goesch’s sides and wrapping him in a tight embrace.

“I know you like your sleep,” Goesch says.

“And you like…this..”

Goesch chuckles. Yes, yes he does. The sun is kissing the plants, the dew-glistening vegetables.

“Just…basking in the magic of it.”

“You’re a hopeless romantic.”

“I have plenty of hope. That’s part of the magic. I mean, do you think that it’s a coincidence that the Prince holds the Dawn Rune? There’s…something about it. Yes, the sun gives light to the world, life to the plants and animals. But the dawn…the dawn is the end of a darkness. A kind of resurrection.”

Kyle nuzzles against his back, still holding him. There bodies are warm in the slight chill of the morning.

“I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I’m surprised, then,” Goesch says. “Because you carry magic, too. Your water rune. It’s well suited to this as well. To healing. To rejuvenation. Just look.”

He inhales deeply and looks out on Ceras Lake, the crystalline waters. There’s a shallow, jealous part of Goesch that wishes he were more a mage. That he was as strong in magic as he was in his arms. But not all magic came from runes. And the magic of water could be captured even by his laborer’s hands.

“That why you’re into me?” Kyle asks.

Goesch chuckles again. “One reason among many. There’s also your spirit. Your kindness. Your courage. That thing you do with your mouth…”

Kyle slaps him playfully on the ass. “Hey now.”

“It’s just…water heals. The dawn brings the light. It’s hard not to think that here, this place…that it isn’t a sign. An omen.”

“You’ll be dressing in black and covering your nipples with thin strips of fabric next, if you’re planning on becoming a mysterious rune scholar.”

This time Goesch laughs out loud, turns, and pulls Kyle into a bear hug. They kiss, and the moisture is like rain after a drought. Geosch feels it soak into the needing soil of his body, his spirit. For the first time in so long he feels…hope. A hope that no fire can burn away, that no twilight can dim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I haven't thought much about it but I kinda love the idea of Goesch and Kyle. No apologies.


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well after the events of Suikoden III, Hugo and Lucia participate in a horse race as part of the autumn rites.

The plains stretch into the clear blue sky. Hugo takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it go.

It’s never quiet on the plains for those who know how to listen. There’s the subtle scurry of the prairie mice, the cut rabbits, the distant grunting of wild boar. The strange screeching of the hoho birds, the airy melodies of the furrflies.

Closer, there’s the breathing of the horses, and the tense quiet of the crowd.

Hugo gives his own horse a pat and looks over at the other rider. Lucia sits with her eyes closed, head tilted upward, and it’s strange seeing so serene an expression on the woman who could make half the men in the village cry with just her glare.

Her eyes open and she looks over at him, meets his gaze. Hugo swallows. He might be the Flame Champion, but this is the first time he’s racing her in the finals of the autumn rites. She’s never lost, not since she was younger than he is now, and the thought that might change is…

Hugo shakes his head, shifts his attention back to the plains. The course. A race to the claw shaped rock at back. No other rules. He wishes he were riding Fubar, but knows that for this there is no shortcut, no advantage he can squeeze by being able to fly over the competition. The horses are the best of the Karaya clan, which means they’re the best in the world. And all he has to do is race his hardest, try his best. To defeat his mother.

Luce walks in front of them, a cloth of vivid red held in her hands.

Hugo grips the pommel of his saddle. Unlike Zexen riders, the Karaya use no bit, no bridle. Hugo whistles slow, and the horse’s ears swivel and flatten in understanding. For the Karaya it’s all about stance, weight, noise, and pressure. A small pat to the side, a shift in stance in the stirrups. In battle it’s often unreliable, a reason when the clan rarely fields mounted warriors. Out here, though…no other horse can run as fast, with feet so sure.

Luce raises the cloth.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather concede?” Lucia calls, cool confidence in her voice. Hugo huffs.

“Afraid you’re getting too old to keep up?” he calls back, not taking his eyes from the cloth. She’s just trying to phase him. Aside from being the best rider in the clan, she’s the best shit-talker, too.

“You know, I was going to let you keep your dignity, make sure not to beat you too badly. But if you’re going to be making age jokes…”

“Not my fault you’re getting wrinkles. I’m sure if you talk to Sir Chris, she can recommend some good cosmetics to smooth those out. Or wait, she probably wouldn’t know, on account of her flawless skin.”

Lucia growls, and Hugo mentally tallies himself a point.

“Yes, well, I’m not the one whose ignoring my new boyfriend is trying to wish me good luck right before the race.”

Hugo starts, looks back to the crowd, searching for…wait a second—

Beside him Lucia’s horse springs into action, and Hugo turns back to see the cloth has fallen and he’s been tricked. Swearing, he leans forward and his horse surges forward, already planning catch up as Lucia’s horse sprints ahead.

Of all the dirty tricks.

The plain blurs as they speed forward. Despite her head start, Hugo starts to gain ground. The plains are his home, and riding has always been his way to unwind, to forget about the pressures of being the chief’s son, the worries about what his future might hold. On the back of a horse, he can forget everything else.

And despite his frame starting to fill out, he’s still smaller than Lucia, still the lighter load. She makes up for it by staying ahead of him, cutting him off whenever he gets close. She has steered past competitors into briars before, over loose sands that slowed down horses, even Karayan ones. She has raced this track dozens of times during rites, and never lost.

Hugo looks ahead, sees the path she’s taking him on. If he’s not careful, she’ll run him right under a low savanna tree, one that the horse will pass effortlessly beneath, while Hugo himself will have to contend with the branches. A good strategy. But he knows the terrain. On the other side there’s a low rocky ledge. If he can get it just…

He speeds forward, making it seem like he’ll try and overtake her on the tree side, and just like he suspected she moves to block, to force him out under the tree. Hugo immediately, leans back, shifting his weight and patting the neck of his horse three time. It slows just enough that its head passes inches from the other horse’s tail as they move from tree-side to ledge-side. Not really room to move around unless—

Hugo leans full forward, hugging the horse’s neck. It surges and leaps lands on top of the ledge running alongside Lucia. For only a second, though, before it leaps again, and lands directly in front of Lucia. Hugo grunts as they land, but manages to keep his seat. They race ahead.

The claw shaped rock is just ahead. He banks hard around it and—

An arachivore leaps out of the shadow of the rock. Hugo’s eyes go wide as his horse tries to avoid the creature. Hugo throws his hand in front of him and there’s a burst of flame as the arachivore explodes from the power of the True Fire Rune. Hugo’s horse stops, bucks hard, eyes wild from the sudden scent of burning. Hugo cries out and tumbles from his seat, manages to roll with the landing, avoiding the stamping hooves of the horse and the errant bits of burning spider.

The horse bolts, tearing out across the plains. Hugo watches it, along with any chance he had in the race, grow small in the distance. He sighs, and lies back on the prairie dirt.

“I would have had that,” he says, knowing that Lucia has pulled short after seeing what happened.

“You can take heart that it’s the first time I haven’t been head at the halfway point in a long time,” she says. “But I’ve come back from worse. Maybe the spirits are trying to teach you humility, Flame Champion.”

“I think the spirits would have a thing or two to learn from you about that, mother.”

She laughs.

“Don’t worry, I’ll send Fubar and your new lover back to collect you. I’m sure he’ll be worried sick when he sees you don’t cross the finish line.”

Hugo grumbles. “How did you know?”

He thought he was being sneaky. It wasn’t like being the Flame Champion had a lot of chances at privacy, but he wanted what he had with Caesar to be…

“Neither of you can keep that lovestruck expression off your faces when you look at each other.”

Hugo groans.

“Besides, a mother knows these things.”

In truth, her reaction was part of why he had wanted to keep it a secret. Because she hadn’t exactly been subtle when she talked about his future. As chief. Maybe getting a few grandchildren for her. She had often talked about how Anne looked at him.

“And you’re not upset?” he asks.

She laughs. “You’re a man now. Who you take to bed is up to you.”

“And if it’s more than that? More than just taking him to bed?”

Lucia shrugs. “That, too, is up to you.”

Hugo looks away. It’s not what he expected. But neither it is a ringing endorsement.

“Whatever you do, you are my son, and I am proud of you. And I’m sorry if I ever make you doubt that.”

He looks back up, feeling tears welling in his eyes.

“Now none of that,” she says. “Just…you don’t need to keep who you love a secret. Not from me, at least. I’ll expect to see both of you after the celebrations tonight. Just the three of us. We can have a…chat.”

Hugo grimaces, imagining Caesar up against his mother’s full attention. But they’d get through it. They’d gotten through scarier situations. Probably.

“Until then, take all the time you need getting back. The plains out here can be as good as private, if you know the right places to stop. There’s a little cave not far from where you pulled that little stunt, for example, that I know if often stocked with blankets and…other things.”

Hugo can feel his face heat, and holds himself back from saying he already knows all about that cave. Half the young people in Karaya know about that cave. But she saves him from having to respond by riding away, and shakes his head and looks up into the sky, waiting for the familiar flapping of wings, and the consoling hands and lips of the man he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggle sometimes with who I ultimately ship with Hugo after Suikoden III, but most of the time it's Caesar. I think they suit each other a bit more than Hugo/Thomas, though I like that ship as well. Anyway, here's some more fluff.


	3. In The Headquarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the events of Tactics, Lazlo shows Kyril around the Dauntless.

“And this,” Lazlo says, signing, “is the War Room.”

“You got a War Room?” Kyril walks to the middle of the empty room and breathes in deeply. It smells of must, mostly, along with the sharp scent of fresh cut wood where some of the boards have been replaced.

Lazlo chuckles and motions a reminder that Kyril needs to face him when speaking. “Among other things, yes. The _Dauntless_ is like a floating castle. We had everything.”

Kyril’s eyes go wide and sparkle like he might cry.

“And how many people cooked for you?”

“Well, there was Pam and Kevin. They made different kinds of buns. Funghi came on later, and with him the galley really took off. The food was…incredible.”

“You tease!” Kyril says, shoving Lazlo’s shoulder. “I’ll be drooling all day!”

“Kevin and Pam have a shop on Illuya. And Funghi is back to cooking on Razril. If you’d like we can take a ship, or a great owl.”

Kyril considers it, but shakes his head.

“Somehow, it wouldn’t be the same.”

Lazlo shrugs, and continues the tour. They look at the huge open galley, now empty of merchants and trades. Peccola’s former ornaments room. The baths, now drained. Kyril looks at it all with wonder, though for Lazlo the enthusiasm stops being infectious by the time they reach the fourth floor.

“And this…was a confession room?” Kyril asks. “W-what did you use it for?”

Lazlo looks at the chair that still sits by the screen. He remembers Keen standing there, signing what he heard from the other side. Watching Lazlo with those hollow eyes, face a map of desolation, a perverse kind of anticipation as Lazlo considered what those on the other side had said. He never doubted that Keen was relating the information accurately. Somehow, this mattered to the man more than anything else. This was the reason he had joined.

“Members of the crew would come here and answer questions,” Lazlo says. “About me. About what we were doing. If they had things they regretted…”

Lazlo hadn’t seen the harm in coming here, in showing Kyril around. The young man was in the middle of his own trials, and seemed intent on learning more about the war, about the forming of the Island Nations alliance. The _Dauntless_ was in storage again. Lino keeps it in good condition, but there are no plans to take it out. Not even with the rumblings of the Kulook once more. It’s a weapon, and a powerful one, and Lino probably knows that part of its effectiveness is the mystery of it, the threat its story possesses, perhaps even more than the physical ship itself.

For Lazlo, though, the return has stirred up memories. Emotions. He walks to the chair and turns it around. Then he takes Kyril’s hand and leads him to it, sits him down. Lazlo stands for a moment, hands idle, watching the confusion in Kyril’s face. Then he starts to move.

“Would you secretly inform me about anyone on board this ship who you think is causing problems?”

Before Kyril thinks the question is meant for him, Lazlo answers.

“There’s… Snowe. He’s being an ass again. Trying to apologize. He doesn’t understand that I—”

Lazlo pauses, centers himself, continues.

“That I don’t want to hear about the things he’s done wrong. The times he refused my forgiveness. The times… I just want him to be quiet about it. If he wants to wear a collar, if he wants to make amends… he can do that. But he needs to stop looking at me like I _need_ his apologies.”

Lazlo swallows, and despite Kyril’s kinda confused expression, he goes on.

“Then, would you tell me what you think of Lazlo?”

Lazlo chuckles before answering.

“Great guy, right? But seriously, I think he needs a break. He works… He didn’t choose for any of this. It just sort of happened. The war, his rune. He doesn’t complain about it, but… He needs a break.”

Kyril nods at this, and Lazlo can see the understanding in his eyes. Their situations might be different, but there’s a lot that binds them, that makes it so that they, perhaps more than anyone else, can understand each other.

“Finally, quietly confess the things you wish to atone for, or all the things that you are thankful for.”

Lazlo feels a twisting in his stomach.

“A great many people are dead because of me and this rune. Less maybe than would have died if I did nothing, if I had tried to get away, if I had stayed on that deserted island. But a great many are dead. And I’ve… I think I’ve let some people down. People who cared about me. When I disappeared. I see it in their faces now that we fight together again. But I’m thankful. To get to see them again. To feel a part of something again. I’ve had my break. It was good.”

He looks away a moment, and it’s as if he can feel the whole of the ship talking to him. When he was here before, during the war, sometimes he’d sit on his bed, bare feet against the floorboards, and it was like he could hear the ship talking to him. The vibrations of all the people aboard, going about their lives. Fighting with him. For him. Their hopes a tapestry of stars.

“I’m thankful for the chance to see them again. Outside of the conflict I was at the heart of. I’m thankful for the chance to make amends for the rune cannons I used. I’m thankful that…that I can ask forgiveness for the people who cared about me, and I couldn’t say anything to when I left before. I’m thankful that I have another chance.”

When he doesn’t say anything more, Kyril looks at him with questioning eyes.

“And now you’re supposed to say if I’m forgiven or not.”

“Oh,” Kyril says. “In that case, you’re definitely forgiven!”

Lazlo smiles. He had expected it to mean nothing. A hollow gesture. But…but it does feel like he’s lighter. It does feel like something has changed. He laughs.

“Now, let’s finish our tour!” he says.

Kyril grins and nods. Together, they stand and leave the confessional behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just an fyi I headcanon Lazlo (and yeah, I use Lazlo and not Razlo) as deaf, hence the signing. I also just love the idea of him showing Kyril around the old ship. In part because Kyril never gets a headquarters, so I think that he'd be kind of amazed by it. And in part because Lazlo is a complicated character, and I feel like any of the characters would have a huge mix of emotions on revisiting their headquarters after the war, after they maybe have fallen out of use and back into disrepair. So yeah!


	4. Mischief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Krin cooks up a plan involving some of the other Stars of Destiny to steal a fabled book from the Rokkaku ninjas. What could go wrong?

“You can’t tell me you haven’t at least _considered_ it,” Krin says, a grin spreading lazily across his face.

“Of course I’ve considered it,” Ledon says. “But Kessler would kill me if he found out I had anything to do with it. To say nothing of Hanzo.”

“Oh, but it’s just a bit of _mischief_. No one will be hurt.”

Lepon scoffs.

Juppo leans forward across the table. “How are you sure this _Book of the Ninja_ even exists?” he asks.

Krin can feel the mood of the table swirling around the idea. He almost has them.

“Of course it exists,” he says. “I’ve heard it straight from a rather excitable young ninja that he’s seen it. That it’s the source of all the most powerful techniques of the Rokkaku.”

“If that’s true, then I doubt they’d be willing to hand it over,” Ledon says.

“Which is why I’ve assembled this little squad.” He motions around the table. “You, Ledon, to help get us past the outer guards with that robber’s tea of yours. I hear the ninja have a special weakness for jasmine.” He moves along. “You, Juppo, for your mastery of traps and tricks. There are doubtless some dastardly devices guarding the book. Ninja do have that reputation.”

He turns the last member of the party. Perhaps the riskiest of the bunch.

“And you, Sydonia, with your special ability, are there to make the extraction itself. Even if Juppo doesn’t disable all of the traps, you should have no problem getting the book and making a speedy escape.”

“Heh,” Sydonia says.

Krin forces his grin not to slip. Of all of them, it’s the young warrior he knows the least about. A man of honor, some say, but also a brigand. A brigand with the unique art of far moving. Bringing him in is a risk, but not, he hopes, a deadly one. The man might be motivated by the challenge of it all, if nothing else.

“So, what do you say?”

The waitress brings a new round of ales and Krin grabs his, holds it high. “To success, and a king’s ransom!”

Juppo and Ledon share a look, but nod and raise their tankards. “To success,” they say, with as much enthusiasm as they can muster.

They all turn to Sydonia, who shrugs and grabs the ale. “Heh.”

Good enough, Krin thinks.

“All right,” he says. “Here’s the plan. In a week’s time, Hanzo is splitting his forces. A number of them are headed to the front to assist the ongoing battles with Barbarosa, while the rest are off to rile trouble in Jowston. With Rokkaku itself destroyed, it leaves their temporary base of operations rather undermanned. To that end, Tir has agreed to bolster their defenses. A detail that I have already made sure to volunteer you all for.”

“Won’t that be suspicious?” Ledon asks. “I mean, you have something of a..reputation.”

Krin laughs. He does indeed. “But that is why I’ve accepted a mission that will take me far away from the ninja’s temporary base.”

Juppo puts down his ale a bit strongly, sloshing some onto the table. “You mean you won’t be with us? You’re expecting us to take all the risk and what, you’ll make away with the book when it’s all over, leaving us high and dry?”

Well, he’s half right at least. But Krin slips on an aggrieved expression. “I would never leave my dear comrades to undertake the mission on their own. No, unbeknownst to our wise commanders, I’ve already handled their little mission, or at least as well as needs be. No, I will make sure to be seen headed in the right direction, and then will meet you at the location. I’ll be risking my hide, too, that way.”

The men around the table look deeply into their ales. Then each takes a deep swallow. Krin triumphs internally. He has them.

***

Krin keeps a look out amidst the passed out bodies. Ledon’s tea worked perfectly, and according to Krin’s observations, the ninja aren’t expected to switch shifts for another hour. Juppo seems to have finally gotten through the last of the traps, and Sydonia has disappeared into the pit where the book is supposedly kept.

It tastes like victory at these moments. Expensive, expensive victory. Once he has the book in his hands, he’ll make his excuses and secret it away. Tell the others he needs to bring it to his buyer. Then, a few well crafted lies about his buyer being caught in the fighting, needing to negotiate a different price. He can pay them all a pittance and keep the lion’s share for himself.

A spot of mischief indeed.

One moment it’s just him, Juppo, and Ledon in the room. The next, Sydonia is standing there, a tome in his hands.

“Heh,” he says.

Krin rushes forward and grabs the book.

“Hey now I don’t—” Ledon begins, but Krin shushes him.

“No time for your doubts and insecurities,” Krin says. “We must be away. Or do you want to be in possession of the item that will put every ninja in the empire after you?”

Ledon balks, and Krin hides his smug smile behind the book.

“Then we have to _move_ ,” he says. And they do, swiftly retreating into the woods.

After that, they have their orders. The others make sure to return to their posts as extra security for the base while Krin, whistling a jaunty tune, sets his general course for the meeting location with his Kulook buyer. Of course, there’s quite a way to go before he gets there, and it would be downright _criminal_ not to peek inside the book to learn what he can in the mean time.

With a cackle, Krin cracks the book open, flips to a random page.

_The Art of Bursting Speed_

That sounds useful!

_First, fortify yourself with a vast amount of kobold baked beans. Then, when they’re…ready. Light your flatulence on fire for added bursts of lightning speed!_

Krin pauses, brow furrowing. That doesn’t sound…

He flips to another page.

_The Art of Stealthy Assassination_

Another promising tidbit.

_First, fortify yourself with a vast amount of kobold baked beans. Then—_

Krin groans, turns to another page. Was this entire book about farts?!

_The Art of Disguise_

Krin huffs. He hardly needs help with that, but he reads on.

 _First, make sure you don’t wear your bright pink ninja costume_.

Well, that seems a bit obvious, but at least it doesn’t have anything to do with kobold baked beans.

_Second, but on plain clothes and carry around a tray of drinks._

Very specific, this.

_Last, wait for the greedy asshole you sometimes work with to hold the meeting where he plans his criminal enterprise in the inn you know him to frequent. Learn all his secrets. Replace the book he intends to steal with a fake. Trail him as he makes for his exchange location. Press a dart to the back of his neck._

He feels the point of it and freezes.

“So, you were the waitress,” he says. “Seems like I should have noticed that.”

“If you ever looked me in the eyes you might have,” Kasumi replies.

“Do you plan to kill me?”

“For stealing a fake book? Hardly. I’m just here to warn you. Stay away from the Rokkaku. Or I will make sure no one finds your body.”

Krin swallows.

“It was just—”

“A bit of mischief?” she finishes.

Krin nods, and the point of the dart digs in a bit deeper into his neck.

“I know,” she says. “Can’t you hear me laughing. Ha. Ha.”

Krin closes his eyes, wets his lips, thinking of what to say, but then the pressure at his neck is gone, and when he turns he’s alone.

“Heh heh heh,” he manages, weakly, though there’s no mirth in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a hard time deciding who to use for this. Chaco seemed like the more obvious choice, but I think the first game gets overlooked in terms of fic, and I think Krin is just a sleazeball, so here we are. Never try to out ninja a ninja.


	5. Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set between S2 & S3, Pesmerga and Yuber end things where it all began for them, in a duel that's been coming for hundreds of years.
> 
> *Major Character Death*

Where do they fight?

Where it all started, of course. In the ruins of their kingdom, in the blasted wreckage of their castle. In a place beyond space and time.

Pesmerga finds Yuber gazing on the pile of rock that might once have been the throne.

“You miss it, don’t you?” Yuber asks. “After all this time, you still wish you could bring it all back with the sweep of your hand.”

“It was our home,” Pesmerga says. His armor gleams in the dim light. The sun here is a gray light in the sky. There are no shadows.

“For a time,” Yuber says.

“A home you betrayed.”

Pesmerga draws his sword. He cannot count the number of times they have faced each other. But never here. Not since that first time…

“I only betrayed it once,” Yuber says, and his own sword is in his hand so far Pesmerga can’t say it wasn’t there all along.

“Once was enough.”

Yuber laughs. “For you, maybe. For me, there can’t be an enough.”

Pesmerga steels himself. “I loved you, then, you know?”

Yuber smiles. His eyes, shimmer. One, gray, one catlike. Just like the pair Pesmerga keeps hidden under his visor. Just…reversed. The pact they made.

“And I used that to tear down everything else you loved. I am nothing if not jealous, lover. Tell me, have I taken it all from you? Your duty, your loyalty, your pride? Is there nothing left but me in your heart, however black your passions run now?”

“I will hunt you to the ends of the world. This one, or another.”

“Ahhhh, that is what I like to hear. The _contempt_ in your voice. The grief, the loss. There isn’t anything else. Just your pursuit of me. Well…this is it, then.”

Pesmerga squints, confusions playing on his face. “What do you—”

“This is it!” Yuber shouts. He starts to circle around Pesmerga, sword swaying slightly as he moves. “This is our final battleground. I picked it special.”

“Then you intend to die here?” Pesmerga asks.

“I’m afraid I’ve been given a better offer,” Yuber says.

Swords clash. In the gray light of the world, there is no glint off the blades, off their armor. They look almost flat, animated as they battle. But the world shakes with every slash, every counter. The moves are practiced from centuries of battle. Moments like this, their bodies taut, their intentions nowhere near as pure as their violence. But something is different.

“What is this better offer, then?” Pesmerga asks. Both men are barely breathing hard. No sweat gathers on their brows. “Why, after all this time, make an end of it?”

“We are relics,” Yuber says. “And I have grown tired of our methods. Warfare. Battle. Such clumsy, heavy-handed things. Look at us! Dressed as knights, blundering in our coal-black armor, horns like dowsing rods for destruction. What fools we look, jesters to a king long dead.”

“And whose fault is that?” Pesmerga charges, going for the deathblow, but Yuber backs away, avoids, slips around. He’s a snake even in armor, graceful as a dancer. In the back of his mind, Pesmerga remembers their dances. Their dalliances. Yuber is right, that they are wasted on combat, their bodies capable of so much more, so much better.

“I don’t deny what I’ve done,” Yuber says. “I simply reject your moralizing of it. This place, it was a cancer. Oh, mostly benign, but that’s the problem, isn’t it? Eternal, we thought ourselves, until the Sindar came and knocked over our toys. Toppled our towers. Burned our castles.”

“We could have won!” Pesmerga charges again. There is no reserve left in him. For all that he’s restrained himself for centuries, held back his emotions, they are on full display now. He will end this. He _will_.

“Yes, more’s the pity,” Yuber says. Despite the ferocity of Pesmerga’s attacks, not a single blow lands. Pesmerga presses forward, their swords caught in embrace, the horns of their helmets brushing across the distance.

“Then why betray us? Why turn on the king? Why turn on _me_?” The words are as much weapons now as their swords, and Pesmerga does not relent. He remembers Yuber, standing over their king. The blood. Remembers looking into Yuber’s eyes, a mirror of his own, and still seeing a warmth there, but buried under something else. Something he hadn’t noticed before, but should have. Something that was there all along.

“Are you aware of sharks?” Yuber asks. “Brilliant creatures. Alive with teeth. Can scent blood for miles. They need to keep swimming to stay alive. Something about the way they breathe. And, well, I guess that’s sort of like me. I need to stay moving. I just never realized it until the Sindar came. Until I heard the Rune of Change whisper across the battlefields. And then I knew. As much as I might have…enjoyed my time with you. It was wasted. Static. Dying.”

Each word is more devastating than an explosion, and Pesmerga reels as if struck.

“Oh but I have enjoyed the chase at times, too,” Yuber says. “The hunt. Only…this too has become something of a closed loop. A cage. And I think I’ve found the key that will let me out.”

“I will kill you,” Pesmerga shouts, and lunges again, finds only air to resist his blade.

“There are whole universes out there,” Yuber says. “The Sindar showed us that. But they close the door when they leave a place. The only reason we can come back here is because we slipped through with them when they entered the next world, left the door open a crack. But we’ve been stuck since they passed on. Except, there’s a boy. A magical boy who I think can blast open the doors. All doors. Can give me access to everything. Imagine, a night sky full of stars and each one a world. A sea full of prey, waiting to find my jaws. Oh think of it!”

Pesmerga is done with words. He needs to stop this. Needs to stop Yuber. It’s too late, and Yuber is right, this has gone on for long enough.

“I will miss you, of course,” Yuber says. “I might even think of you once or twice. But then, from what I’m told, there might be other yous out there, strung across the chain of reality like jewels. I will relish them, as well. It will be like…we never have to be apart.”

“I will end this!” Pesmerga attacks with all his strength, with the fury of a thousand years. The whole world seems to gather in his sword as he raises his arms, as he—

“Uh.” It’s not quite a word. Not quite a gasp. Just…a breath. He looks down, and Yuber’s sword has pierced his armor directly over his heart. He can feel it, the solid cold of it, inside his body.

“It was always going to end like this, lover,” Yuber says.

The strength goes out of Pesmerga. His sword clatters to the ground behind him. His arms fall to his sides.

Yuber drive the sword deeper, completely through Pesmerga’s body. They are inches apart now. Yuber knocks the helmet from Pesmerga’s head, then removes his own.

“I won’t be needing the armor any more,” Yuber says. “It was always a symbol of where I came from. From now on, I’m concerned with where I’m going. But I needed to end this first.”

One hand still on the hilt of his sword, Yuber uses the other to pull Pesmerga into a kiss. And it’s like they’d never left. Like all the world was exactly as they’d known it. The castle, their king, all of it still and quiet. Perfect.

Yuber steps away, pulls his sword free, and Pesmerga falls to the ground, his eyes already closed. There’s something like sorrow that mixes with something like joy. There’s pain. That Yuber understands quite well. It’s…it’s what it had to be. Not, perhaps, like he expected. He feels…incomplete almost, looking at the corpse before him.

Slowly, he strips the armor away. All of that belongs here, in the past, in the dead world the Sindar left in their wake. He’ll find clothes when he returns. Until then, he will walk naked. Reborn. With a new purpose and a new passion. And if there still remains some part of his heart that seems hollow, empty now, he will tell himself it is a hunger for something new, and not a memory of something lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never really liked Pesmerga, and mostly because he's one of those too mysterious and cool characters. But I did like trying to sort of pry apart his connections to Yuber and what it all means. It's a tragedy, yeah, but also makes more sense as to why Yuber has shifted so much between Suikoden II and III than "he changed clothes to throw Pesmerga off his trail" which always felt weak to me. So here, my headcanon. Sorry Pessy.


	6. Rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Diulf pulls a mission to find a lost cat. Too bad Megion seems to have beaten him to the punch. Or has he...

Diulf scans the courtyard. Nothing. He sighs. Surely there are better uses of his time. He’s a warrior, a leader—does he really need to be tracking down a lost…kitten?

He moves through the castle to the exterior, stops. Megion stands there, smirk on his face. Kitten in his hands.

“Hello, Diulf,” Megion says. “Beautiful day.”

Diulf approaches, keen eyesight picking out the name on the kitten’s collar. _Lotte_. Yup, definitely Nemne’s kitten.

“It is,” he says. “And it would be even better if you handed over that kitten.”

Megion, feigning shot, looks down at the creature, who seems to be purring under his gentle strokes.

“Who, little Murder Jr. here?” he asks.

Diulf closes his eyes. “Murder Jr.?”

“It’s a lovely name for a cat, don’t you think?”

“It’s—the _name tag_ is right there!”

Megion rolls his shoulders in what might be a shrug or might be a display of his muscles.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found Murder Jr. here as a stray. Alone. In need of protection and warmth.”

“You stole her from Nemne’s quarters.”

“I would _never_. Why, is Nemne missing a kitten.”

“You _know_ she is. That kitten. Lotte. Like it says on the tag.”

Megion raises a hand to his mouth, rounding his lips a mockery of surprise. “Oh, but this couldn’t be _the_ Lotte, could it? The one that Nemne hasn’t been able to find for a week. The one with the mission? Oh, well, in that case…”

Diulf holds out his hands, waiting for Megion to hand the kitten over. Megion approaches, but instead of leaving Lotte with Diulf, he walks past, towards the castle.

“…I guess I should return her to her owner, and claim the credit for completing the mission.”

Diulf’s eyes narrow. That son of a…

“I know what you’re doing,” he says.

Megion stops, turns. Smiles in a way that is in now ways innocent.

“Why, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says.

Diulf snarls. “Give me the kitten, Megion.”

Megion’s eyes spark as if touched by fire. He holds the kitten up near his face, his claws extending threateningly.

“Come and take her.”

But just as he says it, the kitten, perhaps sensing the sudden shift in mood, opens her mouth and sinks her teeth into Megion’s hand.

“Yeeeooooowhatthefuck!” Megion cries, and steps back, hands spreading. The kitten hits the ground running.

Diulf and Megion lock eyes. The hunt is on.

The castle echoes with their crashing pursuit, their muscled, furred bodies ricocheting off the walls as they shove each other, Lotte always a step ahead, always veering at the last moment down a hallway, in and out of a room. As soon as one tries to reach for her, the other bashes him away. Other members of the army scatter at the thunderous chase.

Lotte bolts up a set of stairs and Diulf curses to himself. They lead to the roof, which isn’t exactly the safest of places. He follows, shoulder to shoulder with Megion. He’s not losing this. He’ll prove that he’s better, stronger, faster. They reach the open air of the roof and the light is blinding for a moment.

They both stop, and the scene clears for them at the same time. Their blood freezes. The kitten stands on the edge of the roof, the stone beneath her hardly the most stable or secure. A wrong more and she’ll fall, and neither will be able to complete the mission.

The kitten peers over the edge, and it’s too much. He has to act. He leaps for her, but not before Megion does the same thing. They collide in the air, tangling, arms reaching for Lotte only for her to startle, hiss, and dart away. Momentum takes Diulf and Megion both over the side. Diulf curses, twists, jams his claws into the stone of the ledge. He…holds. But, next to him, so does Megion.

“Why couldn’t you just let me have this?!” Diulf shouts.

Megion sneers. “If you’re not strong enough for this, then you don’t deserve to lead.”

“Is that what this is about?” Diulf asks. “That I’m leader, and not you?”

Megion makes to shrug but almost loses his perch. “I have no interest in challenging you there, if that’s what you’re asking. But… I do still care. About our people. The clan. Maybe this is just a test…to see if you’re good enough. For them.”

“For them?” Diulf asks, grimacing as he struggles to hold himself up. “Or for you?”

“Is there a difference?” Megion asks, and Diulf wishes he had a free hand to smack him with.

Diulf feels his claws crumbling the rock, but his eyes stay locked on the kitten. Maybe he can…

The rock crumbles more, and he digs in harder, barely holding to the ledge. Beside him, Megion seems in the same way. They take a second to glare at each other before turning back to the kitten, who has stopped to groom herself, then starts moving back toward the stairs.

“Traitor!” Megion cries. “After all the fish I fed you!”

Diulf grunts, muscles screaming.

“So,” he manages. “You _did_ steal the kitten. Just so…” He has to adjust his grip again. “Just so Nemne would put up the mission and you could poach it from me!”

Megion laughs. “It _does_ really piss you off,” he says. “And that makes _me_ happy.”

Diulf wants to attack, but before he can he catches new movement from the stairs. Great! Assistance! Lotte just sniffs about as three figures rise into view. Servillah. Lycia. Eusmil. Lycia bends down and plucks up the kitten. All three of them regard Diulf and Megion.

“A—a little help?” Diulf manages.

The women all sigh as one.

“Nemne’s going to be thrilled to have her cat back,” Lycia says.

“Oh yes,” Eusmil agrees. “And we can just split the reward.”

“Works out for everyone,” Servillah says.

And as one the three of them turn back to the stairs. And head down.

Diulf whimpers.

Megion laughs.

“You know, I really don’t like you,” Diulf says, glaring.

“That just because we haven’t fucked yet,” Megion counters, and Diulf, sputtering, loses his grip. Falls. Wonders on the way down whether he’s outraged…or intrigued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've only played Tierkreis once, so I'm not sure I have the greatest handle on the personalities, but I like this bit of fluff. Cheers!


	7. Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viki just wants to enjoy the victory banquet!

The mood is raucous. The air electric. Viki isn’t sure if she’s been here before.

The table overflows with food. Antonio smiles knowingly at her. _Blink_.

Or, wait, Retso? Oh yes, and the fish! Everyone is so happy. There are Lun and Subala laughing—Subala is taking on all challengers in arm wrestling, and so far he hasn’t lost. There is the Prince, smiling, though there is a heaviness in his eyes. Viki wants to tell him it’ll be all right, but first she needs to eat. It all looks so _good_! _Blink._

Her plate is empty again. Strange, she can’t remember eating. She must not have filled it after all. She leans forward to heap on buttered clams and maybe a whole kobold burger! Behind the table Hai Yo is twirling his knives, showing off for the guests.

“Enjoying the party?” Jeane asks, suddenly beside her. Or was she there all along?

Viki opens her mouth, but doesn’t know quite how to answer.

“Uh…I can’t wait to eat!” she says!

Jeane’s eyes narrow momentarily. _Blink_.

“And you say we’ve met before?” Jeane asks. But…she’s different, somehow. Wearing…less? Is that even possible?

“I mean, we see each other all the time,” Viki says. “In…Gregminster? Or…North Window? I can’t always remember places very well.”

Her plate is empty. She frowns, begins filling it again. Steam buns! Pam makes them the best, even if some people claim that Kevin is getting better.

“I think you might be mistaking me for someone else,” Jeane says.

Viki shrugs. “That happens,” she says.

She doesn’t really care. She wants to eat. Lots of fish here, too. Funghi has been busy. She hopes the mushrooms, however, aren’t from the special room in the depths of the ship. That room…gives her bad feelings.

She takes her plate and turns away from Jeane. There is seating on the deck, but she doesn’t want to go that far. She wants to eat. She feels, deeply, that she deserves this, that she’s _earned_ this. But then, they’ve just won a war, right? They’ve defeated…who was that again? Luca Blight…? _Blink_.

And now Lester and Gremio are arguing about the stew. Viki looks down. Empty plate. She wants to ask them for a bowl of the stew. It smells heavenly.

“Excuse me,” Luc says, elbowing toward the cocktail shrimps.

“Oh, aren’t we fighting you?” Viki asks, then puts a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, that’s rude of me.”

Luc, four shrimps already shoved into his mouth, rolls his eyes. _Blink_.

Mamie straight up cudgels Juan with a ladle, the man crashing over a table.

“If you think I’ll sit back and watch you put a finger in the icing of this cake you have another thing coming!” she shouts.

Viki hesitates, her plate still empty. She could go for some paella. She’d even settle for some super pickles.

A small hand rises up near her face. It holds a creampuff.

“You look hungry.”

Viki looks down. “Oh, hi Viki, I _am_.”

“Then, maybe before you…” _Blink_.

Viki stands on the edge of a cliff, looking out over a sea. But…how did she get here? She looks around. The coast looks almost familiar, but she can’t quite place it.

“1000 years in the past.”

Viki looks to her side. “Oh, hi Viki. What was that?”

“Never mind,” the girl says, and raises her hand again. The creampuff.

Viki’s stomach growls. She reaches out and takes it.

“Thank you,” she says, and takes a bite.

Rich buttercream filling. Crispy dough. “Mamie is the _best_ with sweets.”

“Why do you think I chose Budehuc to intercept you?”

Viki tries to speak through a mouth full of creampuff. “I dompt kwow.”

Viki moans as she finishes, as the last of the creampuff passes over her taste buds. “That is so _good_. I can’t remember when I had something like that. I…can’t really remember every getting to eat something from one of the victory banquets.”

“I know. I felt bad about that. Thought you deserved at least a taste, even if you can’t enjoy it with everyone else.”

The creampuff gone, Viki licks her lips for any last bit, and sighs contentedly.

“I guess I’ll be on to the next one, then,” she says.

“Yeah, in a bit. I thought…maybe we could talk first.”

Viki tilts her head. “About what?”

It’s strange seeing someone who looks so much like her, only smaller. Looking at the girl, Viki’s head pounds, like she’s trying to focus on one grain of sand on a whole beach. The strain—

“This isn’t working. We’ve tried a number of incursions now, and none of them bring Waffu back. Worse, we’re…there aren’t that many of us left.”

“Of…us?” Viki asks.

“The nature of time travel, you know. The more you do it, the less you remember, because you’ve changed things that would change your own past. They’re all…shattered mirrors.”

“Oh, but mine’s not…” Viki reaches into her robe, but she can’t find it. The blinking mirror.

“It’s here.” The girl pulls out the mirror. “But I’m not sure you should use it anymore. You’ve been through a dozen incursions. Your timeline is…a mess.”

“But I help people. I make friends.”

The girl smiles. “You do.” She holds out the mirror, and Viki takes it.

“Am I lost?” Viki asks.

The girl looks out over the cliff. “You’re always going somewhere, Viki. Maybe next time, you’ll get to enjoy the whole banquet. One way or another…I think this might be the end.”

Viki squints. “N-no more incursions?” she asks, only barely understanding that word. Only, it meant something to her once. If she could only remember.

“I’m not sure. Maybe not. Or maybe…maybe what you’ve earned is a life outside of this.”

Viki doesn’t say anything for a minute. She can feel things swirling inside her. “I…want to remember,” she says. “I think…I think I lost someone, in that place you mentioned.”

And there, flashes of a face a lot like hers. Not a sister. A wife.

“Waffu. And yes, you did. We all did. But…maybe we deserve to be happy. Maybe we deserve to forget.”

And then more, more memories. Of flavors. A party. A banquet. And Viki in this dress, this ceremonial dress for weddings. A woman, a cook, who fills their lives with tastes from every time and place. Going to take a bite of cake and…white. _Blink_.

Back among the laughing people. Now Koroku is being chased by Mamie, the dog triumphant with a chicken drumstick in his mouth.

Viki looks down at her plate. Empty.

“Great party.”

Viki gives a start, looks over…and down.

“Oh, hi Viki. It _is_ a great party. If only I could get some food.”

The girl smiles, though it looks almost sad.

“Good luck,” she says.

Viki nods, confused why there are tears running down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well sorry for the tragic headcanon but there it is. I am fascinated by Viki and her story and wish we got some answers about it. However, this is what lives in my heart concerning her. Sad, gay stuff. Cheers!


	8. Sailing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kamandol and Gen experience some technical difficulties while testing out a new boat engine. Faced with a long, slow sail back to the castle, a philosophical debate turns into something a bit steamier...

“This is—what are you even doing?”

“Getting the sails ready, gramps,” Gen says, flipping up a concealed compartment and raising up the telescoping mast.

“Sails? On my boat? Who said you could put sails on my boat?” Kamandol seizes the side of his monocle in outrage.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t blow a gasket,” Gen says. “I mean, your engine’s already done that, so kinda beating a dead horse if you join in. Or a dead boat, in this case.”

“If you hadn’t been pushing it so _fast_ the engine would have had no troubles keeping up!”

“And what’s the point of having a boat with an engine if you can’t go _fast_?” Gen demands, locking the mast in place. It’s not the most extensive system, but for a boat this size, meant mostly for a group of no more than six, it should do the trick. Getting back to base with it, now…it wouldn’t be near as fast as if they had a working engine. But it’d get them there.

“This was a _test run_. Not a race. Not an excuse to break my previous creation.” Kamandol fusses over the engine, which still pours black smoke into the clear sky. On another day, that might mean a chance for rescue, but the test run had been, well, running. And now they are far enough away from anywhere that rescue, in the middle of a war, is exceedingly small.

“Don’t worry, geezer,” Gen says, unfurling the sails and rigging them properly. He might be a carpenter by trade, but he was an excellent shipwright, and a decent sailor. “We’ll get your mess back to the castle and you can do some tender lovin’ resuscitation.”

Kamandol huffs. “Must you be so crude all the time? The engine is a work of art, not a suitor to be wooed. The question is one of patience and craft, not passion.”

Gen burst out laughing and, instead of finishing up the rigging, nearly tumbles from the boat as he grips his sides.

“I don’t see what so very funny!” Kamandol says, monocle tumbling from his eye.

“Just you, old man,” Gen says. “I mean, who says that art isn’t about passion? Craft is about technique and skill, yes, but art is more than just craft.”

“Nonsense. Craft is everything. Practice. Diligence.”

Gen scoffs, finishes with the rigging, and then moves over to the boat’s controls, where the compass and navigation chart is.

“There’s such a thing as inspiration, you know. The bolt from the blue. A spark. That special something that can’t be defined. That makes what would otherwise be okay…amazing!”

He adjusts the sails and the boat lazily turns. When he got it going in the right direction, he ties things down.

“Just superstition and vanity,” Kamandol says. “Breakthroughs happen, yes, but they come about through hard work. They might not be predictable to those who are doing the work, not right away, but given time they fit into an inevitable flow of hard work and perseverance.”

“Inevitable?” Gen says. “You’re saying these things are what, fate?”

Kamandol takes a deep breath. “There you go, wrapping it in magic again. Fate is—no, I don’t mean fate. I mean that it follows a pattern that we can’t see yet. Like, let’s say you’re loosening a nut from its bolt. At first it turns easily. Then, it slows. Then stops. The mechanist turns harder, harder, and then…poof! The nut starts turning easily again! To the person on the outside, watching, it might seem random. But to the mechanist, who knows better, it’s just that something caused the nut to stop, and a certain amount of force was required to get it to move again. They might not have known how much until they reached that point, but that doesn’t change that it required a specific amount of force, and once he gave it that amount, the result was…inevitable.”

Gen stares. On the one hand, what Kamandol says actually…makes sense? In a weird, sideways fashion. But…also it’s complete bullshit. He shakes his head and then suddenly he closes the gap between himself and Kamandol.

The machinist’s eyes bulge and the monocle, just recently replaced, tumbles again. Gen leans up and kisses Kamandol, pressing their bodies together though careful to give the man room to back away, to break the contact. And he does, though not before closing his eyes a moment and seeming to enjoy the attention, the feel of their lips joined, the heat of their bodies so near…

He breaks away, retreating to the side of the boat, as far as he can get from Gen, though that’s not very far at all.

“W-what is the meaning of this?” he demands.

“Proving a point,” Gen says, and he shrugs like his heart isn’t racing, like he doesn’t want to chase the inventor across the ship.

“And what point would that be?”

“Well, if what you say is true, then what just happened…was inevitable. Just a certain kind of tension that got too much and…there we were. Kissing. I guess…there was no stopping it. Just the logical outcome of us out here. Like the broken engine. The way you didn’t pull away. Not fate. Not inspiration. Just…inevitable.”

“You watch your mouth! You’re twisting my words. I never said. I mean, I never—”

But he can’t back away any further, and Gen doesn’t keep his distance. He moves forward, swaying slightly as he moves. A lazy but hungry gait.

“You can’t have missed how I feel about you. Just like I haven’t missed that you feel the same way.”

“R-ridiculous! We hate each other. You insult me all the time!”

“And you like it, you perverted old man,” Gen says. And Kamandol, rather than arguing right away, blushes. Just as Gen thought.

“What, no denials?”

“I d—”

“Too late, I already know the truth. And hey, you can at least tell yourself that you’re right. There’s no fighting this. It’s, as you said, just the inevitable conclusion we’ve been moving toward for years. Testing each other out. Coming to a head out here, with hours to go before we’re back at the castle, if a sudden loss of wind doesn’t leave us stranded for days. Days. Of just you. And me. And a full stock of supplies.”

“The others, they’ll be missing us,” Kamandol says. A flimsy argument.

“We’ve spent days gone before. Arguing. Sleeping so near but so frustrated, unwilling to act on our desires because we were afraid. Of what might happen. Of what might change.”

“I…I don’t…”

“So they won’t worry. And we’ll still be back, test run complete, ready to give it another go. And another. In the castle. At sea again. Any time we feel like it.”

Kamandol bites his bottom lip and Gen can tell that he’s not going to stop this. Whether he’s too proud to admit that his own theory is bullshit or because this has been inevitable, just requiring one of them to take the chance, ride the lightning, it doesn’t matter.

Gen stops in front of Kamandol, slides a hand inside his lab coat, finds the lip of his pants.

“Got a problem with that, old man?”

Kamandol doesn’t seem able to speak, but he shakes his head. Swallows as Gen gets down on his knees, and moves to get on with the hot, inevitable things he’s been dreaming about for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is no way that these guys aren't fucking. Sorry, but the sexual tension is SO MUCH in Suikoden I. Probably more than basically any other characters. I always wanted to visit with them, and this has been a fun little glimpse into how things might have sparked off. Don't make philosophical arguments you aren't willing to back up!


	9. Hunting/Fishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Genso Suikogaiden 1, Nash and Wakaba come across a certain sylvan archer bathing in the woods, which leads to some danger, but might kindle something between Wakaba and Ayda.

There are books so old that they come from other ages. Or other worlds. That slip through the barriers, taken by scholar or bards and given new life, new purpose. At the library in Qlon, Wakaba read all sorts of stories about different worlds. Honestly, they were only interested in the fun bits—the fighting—but they’re reminded of something they read once. About a goddess of the moon. An archer.

Yes, maybe it’s because the bow on the ground. Next to the pile of clothes. Maybe it’s the moonlight, the waterfall-fed pool that seems to sing. Yes, maybe it’s the naked woman bathing, oblivious to everything but the pleasure of the night air on her skin. Yeah, probably that.

Wakaba swallows, mouth suddenly drier than if they’d run twenty miles without a drink.

“Um…” Nash says, beside them, eyes glued anywhere but the pool.

Wakaba, never a prude, keeps right on looking. The woman in the pool is…amazing. Muscles ripple all over her body, and she moves with a kind of self-assured power that Wakaba just can’t look away from.

“Perhaps we should…” Nash says, as quietly as he can, but even so the woman’s head whips up, and there’s a fire in her eyes. “Oh hell.”

She out of the pool in seconds, hands on her bow, arrow notched. Wakaba flushes, feels a heat rush through their body because wow, really, just wow. And then Nash is grabbing their shoulder and pulling them away as an arrow strikes a tree behind where his head just was.

“We have to go!” Nash says, still pulling them, and Wakaba snaps out of their…uh…interest in the scene they’ve been forcibly removed from and remembers that most people don’t really like being spied on. Even when the spy didn’t mean to do it and even when the spy is very appreciative of what they’ve seen in a great many entirely flattering ways. Shaking their head, Wakaba falls into a run beside Nash. Well, slightly ahead of him, because otherwise maybe he’d slack, and he can do to gain some muscle mass.

Eventually they find the horse again and make camp, only pretty sure that they haven’t been followed. All the same, Wakaba’s dreams are plagued by the moonlight, by pale skin and crystal clear waters.

In the morning Wakaba wakes to the sounds of Nash’s snoring and decides to get a jump start on training. They sprint through the trees, aiming at some only to dodge at the last moment. A single, minute error and they’ll crash, but they’re a student of the legendary L.C. Chan of the Dragon Style and there’s no way—

Their world splinters as they collide with a particularly sneaky birch tree, and they sprawl out onto the forest floor.

“Owwwwwwww,” they say, rubbing their forehead. Okay, well, maybe they still have a bit to learn. But as the Sensei says, _Life is War!!! Speak with your Fist!!!_

Bounding to their feet, Wakaba faces the tree and attacks, lashing out with a kick that cracks the wood like a bolt of lightning. Woodchips fly and Wakaba readies another kick when the whole thing gives a groan and the trunk buckles. Wakaba’s eyes bulge as the tree starts to fall…directly at them!

“Ope!” they say, and it’s like their body won’t move, like they can’t escape the—

Again they register a strong impact, but not the one they were expecting. With a jolt they are flung to the side, and find themself rolling through the fallen leaves and twigs with another body. Maybe Nash woke up and found them thanks to the noise they had made. Maybe…but as the world stops spinning they see that it wasn’t Nash.

“Uh…” they say, looking up into the glaring face of the woman from the pool. She’s straddling Wakaba’s thigh, and Wakaba feels heat rush through them again. “Hi. And…thanks?”

“You are by far the easiest thing to hunt in this entire forest,” the woman says. “When I decided to come looking for the people who disturbed me last night, I wasn’t expecting to have to save one of them.”

Wakaba shrugs. “I did just say thanks.”

“And how about…sorry?” the woman asks.

“For what?” Wakaba says, rising slightly so that their faces are only a few inches apart. “Oh, you mean the seeing you in the pool. Well, kinda the risk you run when you bathe out in the open, don’t you think? Not that I don’t, but I like to bath in cold water. The colder the better, Sensei Chan says. Warmth is for the weak! That’s one of his sayings.”

“Uh…” the woman says, leaning back a bit.

“And besides, you have _nothing_ to be shy about. You’re _gorgeous_. I mean, your muscles! And your hair! I saw the bow you carry. Is that how you got so toned? I haven’t really tried archery, because Sensei Chan considers it inferior to hand to hand combat, but maybe I could do it for added muscle tone. Do you work out otherwise?”

“Look, I think maybe you have the wrong idea about—”

“I’m Wakaba, by the way, and I’m going to be the second greatest martial artist ever! Sensei Chan will always be the greatest, but I don’t see why that means I can’t be the second greatest. I’m a student of the Dragon Style. The only student, actually, which makes me special! I was actually in the middle of my morning training when, well, you saw. Do you want to do some training with me?”

The woman keeps looking at Wakaba a moment, then sighs.

“I’m Ayda. I help to protect the forest.”

“That’s so cool!” Wakaba says. “Are you, like, friends with all the raccoons and other woodland critters?”

Ayda takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

“I knew it! That’s awesome! I’ve always thought that, like, strength training with animals would be so intense. You could to sprints with deer and try and out squat a bear and maybe like do reflex training grabbing fish out of the river. To toss back, of course. I’m a strict vegetarian.”

“That’s…good,” Ayda says. “But no, I don’t really…train with the animals.”

“Oh. Well, still. Do you want to do some training. We could climb some trees or do some swimming or…wrestle? Unless that would be awkward because, well, you’re so pretty and all and we’d be so close and all but I mean you’re really close now and even if I want to kiss you a bit it’s not, like, an urge I can’t resist at the moment. Sensei Chan says that resisting urges is important because _To live is to fight!!!_ So we shouldn’t avoid putting ourselves in situations where we’re tempted just because we’re tempted. Even if sometimes I’m not as good at beating my temptations. I’m still in training, after all.”

Wakaba sucks in a breath, suddenly feeling a little short of air, realizing that they’ve been talking in a rush for a while. They concentrate on Ayda, the woman’s flushed expression, her wide pupils.

“I mean, maybe we could…”

“Train, or make out?” Wakaba asks.

Ayda stands quickly, pulling away. “Er, train,” she says. “F-for now, at least.”

“Gratification delayed is gratification doubled!” Wakaba says, standing and brushing themself off. “That’s another one of Sensei Chan’s sayings, though he’s not very good and actually following that one. It’s food for him, though. He eats and eats sometimes without thinking about paying for it. Of course, that’s probably just to give him more martial arts fuel! Me, I just can’t help but fall for beautiful women with muscles.”

Ayda coughs. “I mean, we could… Is gratification really _doubled_?”

“Oh at least! You’ll see. We can train first, and then make out!”

“I…I mean, if that’s what…you want.”

“I do!” Wakaba does a quick stretch, is glad to find that nothing in them seems injured. “Thanks again for saving me. Let’s climb some trees! Are you very good at that?”

“Yes,” Ayda says.

“Excellent! Then I’ll have a lot to learn. Maybe you can teach me how to hunt, too. What do you hunt out here in the forest?”

“Poachers,” Ayda says.

“Excellent! Today’s going to be _great_!”

In the back of their mind they think they must be forgetting something, but that can wait. First, training. They can learn to hunt. Then, kissing! Who knows where that might lead! But obviously it will be somewhere awesome.

***

Back with the horse, Nash opens his eyes and looks around.

"Huh?" he asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wakaba has always struck me as non-binary, just fyi. And I just love their energy, and how completely flustered it would make the more reserved Ayda (who seems rather flattered all the same). Climb some trees! Make out!


	10. Back In Hometown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snowe returns to Razril after the war to find that it, and himself, have changed since he left.

The streets of Razril are bustling. Snowe steadies his hands by rubbing them together, then tightening the straps on his bracers. He tells himself that the people have never seen him like this, never seen Snowe the pirate. He reaches one hand up and tugs at the buckle of his collar, reminding himself why he wears it. Not for sex, or not just for that, regardless of how Kenneth jokes. No, to remind him that he’s bound. By history, by fate, by the weight of his own actions. He has a lot to atone for. Especially here.

The ship docks and Snowe takes his time gathering his bag and heading for the gangplank. It’s not that he’s afraid he’s going to be mobbed. Not…really. He knows what people thought of him. Of his father. But he’s been back before. With Lazlo. With Kenneth and Tal and Jewel and Paula. People saw him fighting for them again. He thinks, he hopes, that did a lot.

It's not the people he’s afraid of. It’s himself. It’s the memories. Those past trips were just supply runs, supporting Lazlo and staying by him. They were part of the fight against the Kulook. The fight to protect Razril. The fight they all won. This is different. He’s home now. To stay. At least, to try. But he doesn’t know what’s waiting for him. Doesn’t know if there’s a home for him after all. He sighs, and quietly disembarks.

The city is alive again after the war. The islands are trading briskly, prosperously, and Razril is flourishing. It makes it a little easier to slip through the crowd. Snowe makes for the back alley all the same, hoping to bypass any watchful eyes on the main road.

He remembers, as he moves, the years he spent here. Furball patrol with Lazlo. Their knights training. The night of the torches, when…everything turned.

“Snowe!” calls a voice as he’s made clear of the crowds and into the alley.

Snowe cringes, freezes, wonders if he’s about to have to fight someone. He remembers when he wouldn’t worry about that, when he thought he was the strongest of the knights, when he couldn’t be beaten. Before he learned that everyone held back around him because of his father, his money, his petty revenges.

He turns, and lets out a sigh when he sees Basil walking over. Though as boys they rarely spoke, Basil too low class for his friend circle, during the war they had a chance to speak, and Basil isn’t one to hold grudges.

“I thought that was you,” Basil says. “I didn’t know you were heading back here.”

“Yeah, well,” Snowe says. “Whatever else, Razril is home.”

Basil smiles. “That it is.”

“But I thought you were signed up on a merchant vessel. An actual job and everything.”

Basil chuckles. “Yeah, well, I wanted to prove that I could. Plus, if I’m going to afford a nice engagement ring, I gotta earn some money. I’m just in town visiting Funghi. What good is having an amazing chef as a boyfriend if you can’t taste it, right?”

Snowe can’t help but feel some of that reflected happiness, for all his own heart still feels empty.

“Anyway, when I saw you, I thought maybe it’d be a good idea to head you off before you got too far. The city’s really changed since you were here last. You might bee a guide.”

“You think I need a chaperone?” Snowe asks. A part of him bristles at the implications, but another part of him welcomes the company. It’s true he doesn’t know what to expect.

“I think you deserve someone to get you ready for what you’re going to find.”

“That bad?”

Basil slaps him on the shoulder. “Let’s just say it’s complicated.”

Snowe sighs. Of course it is. He betrayed his people. His father sold them out. And yet he’s been making for his old house like there might still a welcome waiting for him. He closes his eyes, remembering the large halls, the rooms full of books and toys, everything he ever wanted.

The two walk through the back alley and up into the main square. Like the rest of the city, there’s a bustling atmosphere. The inn is a steady stream of people moving in both directions. And the Vingerhut Estate…

“Is it…”

“An orphanage,” Basil says. “People thought, what with everything, and the war…that the displaced children needed somewhere to go.”

Snowe nods. That…makes sense. It’s…noble, in fact. And fitting in some ways, given how his father had taken in Lazlo. Or, well, paid for him to be taken in by the knights. The sign above the door wasn’t _The Vingerhut Orphanage_ , though. It just said _Forgiveness_.

“What does the name mean?” Snowe asks.

“Heh, if you need to ask what the word means, you’re in more trouble than I thought.”

Snowe snorts. “I mean, why? Why forgiveness? It seems a strange thing to put on an orphanage.”

“It was Lazlo’s idea.”

Of course it was. “Still not really an answer.”

“It’s because the orphanage takes in all kinds. Children from the island who lost their parents, yeah, but also children left behind when Razril was retaken. Children rescued from pirate vessels. There are kids from all over the world who ended up there, and Lazlo set some people to even going to Kulook and Scarlet Moon and bringing back orphans who weren’t being taken care of. It’s an ambitious project.”

“Sounds like it,” Snowe says. He crosses the square with purpose, almost loses Basil in the press of bodies. It’s strange that no one else has recognized him. But without his fancy clothes, without the way he would announce himself to clear a path…maybe no one cares. And there’s a relief in that and also…a disappointment.

“I’m not sure if you want to—”

“I want to look around,” Snowe says. He walks through the front door, under that sign, and a weird feeling passes through him. A kind of shiver that runs through his whole body. Inside, everything is different. The rooms have all been converted, and aside from the architecture itself nothing remains of that is familiar. None of the art, the books—all gone.

“What…happened to all of my father’s things?” Snowe asks.

Basil puts a hand on his shoulder. “Most of it he tried to take with him. When the time came, though, when the people turned on him, he had to leave it behind. He barely got to his ship without being completely mobbed. The stuff…a lot of it was taken then and there. What remained…Lazlo had sold to fund the orphanage.”

An anger flares in Snowe’s chest. All his father’s wealth, gone. But more than that. All the parts of his childhood. The sculptures he wondered at as a child. The toys he played with. The clothes he wore. The legacy of Vingerhut that he was supposed to step into. Gone.

As quickly as the fire of anger spikes, though, it also fades. Snowe takes a deep breath.

“It’s…nice.”

“Master Snowe?”

He and Basil turn at the new voice and Snowe suppresses the urge to run away as Jarvis approaches, the man almost unrecognizable outside his butler’s uniform. He’s wearing just normal clothes, and though it makes him look somehow younger, he’s still gray and bent a bit by age.

“Young master, how good to see you,” Jarvis says.

Snowe opens his mouth to respond but closes it before a sob can escape. He wasn’t ready. Whatever he thought he was going to find here, he hadn’t expected it to hit him like…

“Jarvis,” he says, eyes watering. He had thought the man would have left with his father. “You’re…here.”

Jarvis smiles, and it’s the same one that he’d give bandaging Snowe’s scraped knees or serving him a bowl of tomato soup. “This is my home. Your father wanted me to accompany him, of course, but I declined. I’m too old to be running about. And besides, I wanted to look after…” He gestures around at the estate. “There were talks of burning it, at first. But…oh, what a waste it would have been. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed.”

“Because Jarvis here stood in the doorway and said that if the house burned, so would he,” Basil says. “He’s being too modest. And once Lazlo announced his plans for the orphanage, Jarvis volunteered to run most of the day to day operations. He’s a celebrity now.”

Jarvis blushes. “Well, that might be overselling it. But I’m happy the estate is still standing. So many memories…”

Snowe brushes a tear from his eye and nods.

“And now the halls are filled with laughter again. I’m happy I can help raise the children who come here. Help them to grow into great people. Like you have grown into a great person, Young Master.”

Snowe shakes his head. “No, I—”

Jarvis steps forward and wraps Snowe in a hug. “You might have made mistakes. But so do we all. You’ve grown since then. Into a fine young man. A man I’m proud of.”

Snowe can’t help the tears that now fall freely down his face, and he doesn’t try to. He wraps his arms around Jarvis and he cries. And like he needed more things to be grateful to Lazlo for, he feels some of the lingering magic of him. The magic of forgiveness. Perhaps the strongest magic of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Snowe. He's such a petulant ass through so much of the game, but I do sort of feel for him in the end. Anyway, I think it's an interesting choice to return to Razril as a citizen, to face what it thinks of his family, to try and do right by people. I guess he's going to need a new place to sleep, though. Probably the knights would put him up.


	11. Drinking/At The Tavern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lo Wen mourns the love that she cannot have while her brothers try to cheer her up with the prospect of someone else.

“How about Rikimaru?”

Lo Wen scoffs. “Maybe if I wanted someone to take a basket of cookies to my gran,” she says.

Gijimu sighs.

“Amada? He’s…big?”

“Either he’s naturally hairless,” she says, though by her tone she’s dubious, “or he waxes. No thanks.”

“Bandeaux! He’s big, hairy, and—”

“Married to a literal bear,” Lo Wen finishes. “I mean, you’re getting closer, but it’s no use.”

“Oh, come on sis!” Koyu says. “You can’t just give up!”

Lo Wen takes a long swig of ale, realizes she’s empty, and waves for another.

“I ain’t giving up nothing!” Lo Wen shouts, and hurls her tankard across the room. In crashes into the wall with a resounding snap, and the rest of the tavern all turns to look.

“Now, now, what’s all this?” Leona asks, putting down a new round of drinks on the table. “I can’t have you breaking my cups and disturbing the other customers. What’s all this wailing and moaning about?”

Lo Wen grimaces and snatches up her drink.

“We keep trying to convince her that there are other fish in the sea, that’s all,” Gijimu says. “She has to get over this crush she’s had since Two River. No matter how she tries, she’s just not going to turn the head of the most dutiful husband in the entire army.”

Leona purses her lips. “You’re after a married man?” she asks.

Lo Wen downs the ale in one go and slams it back down on the table. “You all just _love_ to blab about it, huh? It’s not something I’m _proud_ of. If there was anyone else in this rune blasted world even half as masterful, as rugged, as beautiful as him, I wouldn’t be in this state. It’s not my fault he’s married.”

“And who is—”

“I moved heaven and earth for him! I even dug up dirt on the previous head of the kobold government in Two River. Blackmailed the hell out of him. If not for his dealings with me coming to light, he’d still be in charge. Isn’t that worth something? I basically got a corrupt leader stripped of power!”

“By…blackmailing him…?”

“ _And_ I made sure to assault those humans who were leveraging unfair taxes on the kobold trading post. They were in the hospital so long they got moved to desk work where they couldn’t be corrupt anymore. I even burned down that brothel that was exploiting those wingers and I made sure only the men responsible were inside at the time!”

“We know, we know, you’re a veritable saint,” Gijimu says, making sure to grab his fresh ale before Lo Wen can think to take it.

“Um… If you don’t mind me asking, who is it that we’re—”

“Ridley!” Lo Wen says in a keening wail. “Ridley Wizen, the only man who could ever make me happy.”

She starts weeping loudly. Leona hesitates, then reaches out and pats her shoulder.

“There, there,” she says. “I’m sure…er, I mean…I’ll get you another ale.”

“Look, we’ve been over this,” Gijimu says. “You’re whole thing with Ridley is _dangerous_. You know what you got for all your troubles in Two River? Exiled! You start shit up now, during the war, and you think we’re going to be able to stay? You think Riou is really going to side with us if Ridley feels like you’re making him too uncomfortable.”

“He should love me!” Lo Wen says, the tears continuing.

“You’re too good for him, sis!” Koyu says, but it does little to cut through the sobbing. Leona returns with two more ales.

“Anything I can do?” Leona asks, in part because she seems particularly upset and in part because if the scene continues the rest of the patrons might be scared away.

Gijimu shakes his head. “This just happens from time to time. We Lampdragons are passionate people. When our blood boils with the heat of love, sometimes we can’t help but go off the deep end. Like…Mondo! That sexy, elusive ninja, thief of my heart!”

Gijimu raises his tankard, eyes starting to water. Koyu is beside him in a moment, picking up one of the fresh ales.

“Marlowe! Archivist of my raging passions! Tempter of my wildest imaginings! Marlowe!”

Then lean against each other and weep and raise their tankards, though Leona manages to snatch the one away from Koyu before he can down it.

“You’re too young for that!” she scolds, before knocking it back herself. The whole table has descended into inconsolable tears, and she doubts she has the power to pull them out of it.

“What exactly is going on?”

Leona turns, and deflates a bit seeing Oulan there, no doubt on the verge of leaving because of the commotion.

“Lo Wen is upset I think because the person she’s interested in is already married,” Leona says, keeping her voice down, though she hardly has to given the noise, “and she doesn’t think there’s anyone else who measures up. The other two…I don’t know, probably just feeling left out.”

Oulan nods. “I will handle this, then,” she says.

Leona opens her mouth to argue but Oulan is already moving around her to the table. She stops next to Lo Wen. Just as the bandit is about to reach for the last of the fresh ales Leona brought, Oulan reaches down and grabs it first.

“Hey!” Lo Wen says, looking up…and up and up, taking in all of Oulan as she does. “W-what’s the big idea?”

Oulan doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, she turns her head to the side and downs the ale, maintaining eye contact with Lo Wen as she does. Then, almost casually, she lowers the empty tankard _through_ the table, snapping it in two. Gijimu and Koyu both fall backwards onto the floor, startled out of their weeping. Lo Wen doesn’t move, but her eyes are wide, her face lax in a kind of wonder.

“Whoever it is, they are nothing,” Oulan says. “I would break them.”

Leona flushes. The whole room seems to get ten degrees warmer.

Oulan reaches forward, runs a finger under Lo Wen’s chin. “You are fierce and indomitable. Unyielding. Together we could subdue the stars themselves, beat back the seas, change the course of rivers. Do you want to come upstairs, get a room?”

Lo Wen nods, and she takes Oulan’s outstretched hand, the two of them moving as if making their way to the middle of a crowded ballroom to dance.

Leona sighs, nudges Koyu. “Hey, better go make sure that Hilda gets a deposit from those two. I doubt the bed is going to survive what’s about to happen to it.”

Koyu nods and runs off after them, and slowly the rest of the tavern returns to its gentle bustle. Leona, returning to the bar, can’t help but smile. They make a good couple, she supposes. Though she’ll need to talk to Oulan about not breaking her tables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written some of Koyu, but the Lampdragon Bandits are just fun in general and I love the feeling of them as incredibly dramatic. Kinda thinking Lo Wen is going to get over Ridley pretty quick, though.


	12. Outfit Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and the rest of Budehuc decide to hold a costume party for the winger holiday Night of Tricks. The results are...interesting.

Thomas checks himself in the mirror. Not…bad. He tries hard not to get his hopes up but he can’t help hoping that he’ll win the prize for best costume at the Night of Tricks party, the first ever at Budehuc Castle. A lot of people showed up, despite the celebration being rather obscure. Eike found out about it from reading more about winger history, and given that Landis is still prowling the shadows around the castle, it seemed appropriate.

And so Chris and the rest of the Six Knights arrived yesterday. Hugo, Sgt. Joe, and Fubar arrived just after. Geddoe and Duke and both their crews are there. Plus some others from here and there. It’s been made into a whole _event_ , and while Sebastian has complained endlessly about the costs and the added efforts to prepare, Thomas knows he’s relished the chance to get bossy with everyone about the decorations and festivities.

Thomas steps out of the room and jumps back as Cecile pops in front of him.

“Are you ready for the party?!” she asks, and Thomas stares a bit, caught off guard by her change in outfit. Not that it’s…a huge change. She’s still in armor. But it’s full armor, now, and instead of a helmet she’s braided her hair back into a long ponytail. Not as white as Lady Chris, but the resemblance is strong. She even wears a sword at her side instead of her spear.

“Nice costume!” Thomas says.

Cecile beams. “Thanks! You make a rather dashing Geddoe, I must say.”

Thomas gives a small bow. He’s spent a long time on the outfit, the patchwork armor, the eyepatch. He’s a little afraid he’ll trip going down any stairs, but otherwise he thinks he’s done pretty good. Looking at Cecile, though, his doubts grow that he’ll get the prize.

Koroku gives a bark, and Thomas looks down to see the dog wearing little slippers on his back paws and an adorable red cape.

“And who is he supposed to be?” Thomas asks.

Cecile shrugs. “I can’t tell,” she says, “and he says if I can’t tell I’ll have to live in suspense.”

Thomas gives her a look, but lets it go. She spends a lot more time with the dog than he does—maybe she has discovered a way to understand him. They move to the stair and head down. Eike and Sebastian are waiting for them at the bottom.

“Well, I can tell the competition is going to be fierce,” Thomas says, looking them over. Eike is dressed elaborately. Thomas squints. “Are you…a king of some sort?”

“I am the vampire Neclord,” Eike says.

“Of course!” Thomas says, trying to pretend he knows who that is. He really does need to spend more time studying.

Sebastian’s costume is much easier to guess.

“Oh Mr. Sebastian, don’t you think those shorts are a little…short?” Cecile asks.

He dressed in blue, in a very…er…convincing replica of Kidd’s clothing.

“It does feel a bit breeze,” Sebastian says, “but I spent quite some time crafting this outfit. Look, I even made the mask.” He pulls it on, and Thomas and Cecile both force smiles.

“Anyway, luck for all of you I’m one of the judges,” Sebastian says. “I just couldn’t resist the idea of dressing up.”

“The idea is that on the Night of Tricks malevolent spirits return to the world and seek out those who wronged them. People dress up like each other to throw the spirits off the trail. Should a spirit find you thinking you are their target, you would lift the disguise and declare _Tricked ‘Ya!_ The ghost would then dissipate.” The explanation is delivered in Eike’s typical deadpan, which seems almost stranger now that he’s wearing such gaudy clothes.

“Well then, say we?” Thomas asks, and they all proceed outside.

It’s a spectacle, with ghoulish decorations everywhere. Mamie, dressed up like Goro, distributes candy skulls and various other treats. Juan, as Sebastian, sneaks more than his share as the real Sebastian scowls. Piccolo is there as Futch, and Martha has dressed up a small barrel and is dressed as Belle.

“People are certainly getting into it,” Thomas whispers to Cecile as they make the rounds. Roland makes a fairly convincing Watari, though Leo is less in his element as Hallec. Thomas and Cecile stop in front of Borus and Percival.

“Uh…you do know you were supposed to dress up, right?” Cecile asks.

Borus huffs. “I _told you_ no one would get it!”

Percival shrugs and puts a placating hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “What he means is that the difference should be obvious. I’m going as Borus and he’s going as…me.”

“Uhhh…” Thomas says.

Percival sighs and points to his sword. “Look, the jewel on the hilt is _green_. That’s Borus’s color. He has _blue_ , which is mine. It’s subtle.”

“R-right,” Thomas says, and hurries onward.

Salome is there as Apple, and looks fabulous. Chris, as Lily Pendragon, is even better. And Louis…

“You’re me!” Thomas says, and Louis flushes a bit at the greeting.

“Well, I don’t mean to insult or anything…”

“Far from it! You make me look more buff than I’ve ever been!” Thomas says, and they share a laugh.

Duke is there, as Wan Fu. Gau looks completely unconvincing as Franz, though Nicolas’s Iku is a bold choice and might win some points from the judges. Elaine…

“I think you might be a little _heavy_ to wear that,” Queen says, glaring.

“Only in the bust, honey,” Elain responds. “I don’t have the luxury of just padding, like you.”

They’ve gone as each other, and from the looks of it they’ve just raided the other’s clothes.

Geddoe makes a hilarious Sgt. Joe, and gives Thomas a nod as he passes.

“Nice costume,” Geddoe says.

Thomas sputters. “T-thanks!”

Ace turned out a pretty good Edge costume, and Joker is a bit shocking as Yuber. Jacques pulls off a very interesting Edge, though Alia’s Lucia is not that big a stretch. Sgt. Joe’s Mua is surprisingly decent, and even Fubar has dressed up as Rhett, which is pretty adorable.

“Thomas, wonderful party!” Hugo says. For being the Flame Champion, he’s completely shameless as Estella, but that might do just the right thing as far as the judges are concerned.

“Thank you!” Thomas says. “It was kind of Eike’s idea. We have a winger living here, after all, and though he’s a little…strange, we did want to help him feel at home.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Hugo says. “Is he around? I’m curious to see what he must have done for the occasion.”

Thomas looks around. At any large event, he’d expect Landis to be lurking around the periphery. In the shadows. There’s Emily, with an excellent Juan outfit, but…

“I don’t actually see him. I mean, it’s possible that he’s just a little—”

A scream cut off the rest of Thomas’s thought, and all eyes turn to see the latest arrival to the part. Gleaming metal. Eyes that burn even across the distance. Embellishments of gold and hints of black. A wild, haunting laugh.

Half the people present draw weapons, though most of them aren’t really sure what to do with them, given they’re part of the costume.

“Ho Ho Ho HA HA HA!!!”

And then Thomas realizes he recognizes the figure. Well, both the figure, and who they’re dressed as. He might be terrible with history, but even he’s heard of Luca Blight, and the person looks almost exactly like the portrait in the books Thomas had read. Except the hair. It’s too light. And that’s when “Luca” spreads his cape out into wings and laughs again.

“I think we’re gonna be in trouble with the judges” Hugo says, and Thomas can’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda wish there was fan art of Hugo dressed like Estelle now...


	13. Magic/Rune Mishap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Levi tries to separate Ernst from his cursed rune, and things...don't go as planned.

Levi waves his hands absently as Bergen runs about the room, making little explosion noises as he lights the ceremonial incense.

“And you…think this will work?” Norma asks.

Levi mumbles something, then looks up. “What? Oh, well yes, perhaps. There’s always the possibility. It’s a fascinating rune, and if only to possess it myself I will strive my utmost to remove it from Ernie here.”

“Ernst.”

Levi looks at her as if she just sneezed. “Excuse me?”

“His name is Ernst!”

“Oh, yes, well.” Then he goes back to waving his hands and muttering. Chanting?

Norma purses her lips and looks down at Ernst, who looks up at her with his large, feline eyes. She can read them, know that he’s trying to tell her not to worry. But how can’t she? It’s her fault that he’s in this mess in the first place, and if she somehow makes it worse because she contacted this…”rune sage,” then she’ll never forgive herself.

The room, despite the added light from the candle, dims.

“Is something happening?” she asks, and Levi’s eyes open wide.

“SECRETS OF THE BEAST RUNE, REVEAL YOURSELVES!” he shouts, and there’s a crack of energy and a blinding light.

Norma gasps as the world around her shakes as if by an angry god, the room thrashing about or… Or is it just her? She can’t tell as the light gives way to a profound darkness and she feels herself falling, falling…

She comes to with Ernst staring down at her, still in his leopard form. Levi is standing behind him, holding and reading for some sort of book and once more muttering to himself. Norma gets ready to ask what the hell happened but instead of forming words a deep growl rumbles her throat. She stops, then tries again. This time there’s a snarl and a hiss. Panic grips her and she bolts upright. Only it’s not the right upright. Instead of two legs she’s on four. She looks back at herself. Long, feline body. Tail. She jerks her head back to look directly at Levi.

“Oh, I see you’re up,” he says. “There seems to be some sort of…mishap with the spell. Not to worry! Probably it was just something Bergen bungled.”

“I did not!” the dwarf insists.

Norma starts to approach Levi, trying to shout, snarls and hissing still all she can manage. But if she’s like Ernst, that’s likely enough, and if her mouth’s open and all those beautiful teeth are showing…

“I’d love to stay and chat but I’m sure this will only be temporary and if it’s not I’ll be sure to come and check in on you again soon.” And with a strike of his staff he physically sinks into the stone of the floor, which closes up behind him when he’s gone.

“If he could do that why did he have me digging all those holes?!” Bergen shouts, and makes for the door as if intent on asking his master exactly that.

Norma slumps. All her anger transforms into a kind of deep exhaustion, and she realizes that she needs to approach this logically. She feels a nudge on her shoulder and turns to see Ernst still there, leopard’s face making an approximation of sympathy. Or…or wait, that’s not it. There’s something else that is allowing her to understand how he feels. She sniffs.

Ah, it must be pheromones! She’s never been much of a scientist but in her quest to help Ernst she’s learned an awful lot about leopards, and she knows that part of their communication is scent based. She tries to convey that she’s okay, but…it doesn’t seem an entirely conscious thing. It’s so…strange. And then she feels his humor, what’s basically laughter at her standing around amazed by her own abilities, and she gives him a playful glare. Hardly fair. He probably went through the same thing.

But then the reality of the situation catches back up to her and the sadness pushes her back to her haunches. Transformed into a leopard. Just about the opposite of what was supposed to happen. And it didn’t even help Ernst! If she might have traded, might have been able to be a leopard _instead_ of him, that might be something. As is…

Ernst nudges her again, and this time motions with his head toward the (luckily still opened) door. They move outside. And…it’s like they don’t really need words. Ernst shows her around the castle, and she sees it with new eyes. The sights, the sounds, the smells. Once she gets the hand of it, they run together down the corridors and across the bridges. They swipe fish from Shun Min’s pond and they spook the dragonhorses and they have fun stalking the gruff beaver with the guitar.

They spend some time watching Genoh chase slowly after Byakuren, who doesn’t even give him the time of day, and they wait hungrily for Subala and Lun to return from the lake with their catches before relieving them of some select morsels.

In some ways it’s the most free Norma has felt in a long time. Not just because of the feeling of wind across her whiskers. Not just because of the sound of her roar echoing across the lake. Not just because she can leap up walls as silently as breathing. No, it’s because for once she doesn’t feel guilty. At least, not exactly.

For so long, she’s carried the weight of what happened. Ernst’s transformation. It was on her because she was the one who was still human, and he wasn’t. Because when the moment came he pushed her out of the way. Her, who he hadn’t even really liked. But he’d saved her, sacrificed himself for her, and been cursed for it. But now… Now in some ways it felt like they were even. Both cursed. Both cats. Both in the same situation and she could forget about everything else. If she was cursed to it was trying to save him.

She hates herself for feeling like it makes up for everything. Like her suffering was ever something that Ernst wanted, or would help him in any way. But it does help her enjoy the moments as a leopard, racing, jumping, playing. The sun sets and they sit at the top of the castle, where most humans can’t even reach. The stars shine. Norma and Ernst wrap around each other, sharing their warmth.

She wonders if it’s strange, to be so close to a man, when she knows he doesn’t love her, when she knows she doesn’t love him. Not sexually, at least. They were always friends. Reveling as the other went through romantic mishaps. Ernst and his airheaded boyfriends. Norma and her butch girlfriends. And then their fateful trip. Their excavation of the ruins. That professor that Ernst was fawning over turning on them. The Beast Rune—

Norma breaks away from Ernst and leaps from the castle, landing on the next level and jumping again, scaring the literal poop out of some birds just settling in for the night. She jumps and then she runs to feel the burn in her muscles, to feel the wind whip at her face. She runs across the bridges all the way to shore and then stops, breathing hard, not sure what she’s doing or where she’s going. Just. She roars and then collapses onto the grass.

Shit.

Ernst finds her less than a minute later. Followed her scent or the sight of her immature race through the castle. He wraps himself around her again, and there’s no anger in him. Just understanding. A hint of worry. And Ernst wants to say…what, that she’s sorry? She’s said it a hundred times, a million times. She wants to say that they’ll find a way through this. They’ll find the way to change him back for good. She wants to say that she misses him, but that’s not fair. And, looking up at the sky, she understands that there’s so much he wants to say as well, but can’t.

They fall asleep.

In the morning the air is crisp and cold and Norma shivers and pushes more against the warmth that is Ernst. It takes her a moment to realize that she seems to be missing her fur. Her claws and sharp teeth. She starts and rolls over, checking herself. She’s…normal again. She starts to cry.

Ernst nudges her with his nose, and she wraps her arms around him. It’s a relief, maybe, but it’s also not. She cries for all the ways that this didn’t work, for Ernst, for herself, trapped because of this curse. She cries until Levi rises out of the ground in front of her.

“Ah, I see the effects were only temporary,” he says. “As I suspected. We c—”

Norma doesn’t listen to the rest. She pulls her baton from the dimension she keeps it in and hauls it as hard as she can against the side of the “rune sage’s” head. He’s knocked to the side like a charging boar hit him, and crumples to the ground twenty feet away.

Ernst nudges her again, and she looks down into his eyes and smiles.

“Yes, that _does_ feel a bit better,” she says, an answer to his unvoiced question. “And I’m sure he’ll be fine. We can send Silva or someone to check on him…in a bit.”

And she wraps her arms back around Ernst’s neck and squeezes, and laughs, and promises herself again that whatever it takes, she’ll find a way to reverse this curse. Just…maybe no more trusting in shoddy rune sages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Ernst. I want to write a longer Ernst work looking at his further adventures. Seriously. Ernst!!!!


	14. Role Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gordon declares a gentleman's wager with Barts with over who can do the other's job better.

Gordon looks at the garden. “Oh, this will never do,” he says, cushioning his hands with his hands.

Barts narrows his eyes. “You sure about this bet?” he asks.

“Are you sure you won’t admit that gardening is a gentleman’s profession?” Gordon counters.

“Gardening is about getting dirt under your fingernails! About communing with the soil! About—”

Gordon tsks. “Then we will settle this like gentleman, at least,” he says. “A wager. Not for vulgar money, but for truth itself. I will manage your…plot of land. And you will watch over my item shop. After a week, we shall compare who did better. The loser shall forever know that he was wrong. The winner will humbly marinade in his correctness.”

“That sounds pretty fucking stupid.”

“Vulgarities! Please, keep them to yourself. Do you concede, then?”

“Not on your life.”

“Then the wager is officially commenced. The duel, in the most unorthodox of terms, begins at once!”

Barts sighs, but makes his way to the item shop.

\---

Everything smells like manly “scent” or whatever Gordon calls it. Musk? Cologne? He has tiny vials on display for people to sample and it smells like someone juiced a boar. Every now and then someone (Sebastian) will come in and glance over the samples for a good five minutes before stating aloud “oh, well, if the samples are _free_ ,” and then taking one and applying it right there.

Otherwise, business is…slow. Though busier than it was earlier in the week. Everyone who’s come in and seen him standing there has been entirely confused at first, but overall friendly. Turns out most of what Budehuc sells is lube and condoms and medicines. Which Barts can appreciate. Those are definitely staples of an item store. Once word got around that Gordon was…on vacation, though, more people have been stopping by, and purchasing fairly large amount of…everything.

“You say he’ll be back next week?” Kathy asks, adding some dental dams to the counter.

“Yeah, it’s just this… _gentleman’s wager_. He was talking all about his sponge cucumbers and how he’s such an expert on gardens and—well, you get the idea. I told him growing food is a lot harder than it looks. You’ve got to be up every day weeding and checking for insects or blight. Mamie has a lot of demand, and what doesn’t go to her ends up in the Trading Post. You’ve got to be aware of weather, soil, everything.”

“And he just…”

“Just insisted that it was easy! That with a little ‘organization and manly fortitude’ gardening was a simple matter. Well sorry but bullshit, I said. It’s one thing to run an item shop, a wholly other thing to run a garden. He disagreed, and came up with this ridiculous wager. Though, I mean, so far running an item shop doesn’t seem that difficult”

Kathy laughs. “Yeah, well, you’re a lot easier to buy…delicate items from than a certain someone. Every time I come in looking for these things he makes a whole production out of it. Comments on the relative merits of the products like he stocks more than one type of dental dam or condom. It’s a bit off-putting.”

Barts nods, remembering the times he’s needed to stock up. Something he always put off until he need A Supply, at which point yeah, Gordon would comment that if he was seeking so many partners he should perhaps become a professional.

“Well, I’m no one to judge,” he says, stopping himself from saying what he likes to do with some of the ruder shaped vegetables.

Kathy smiles and walks out after paying for her order. Almost immediately Martha steps in. Barts wonders if there’s a line beyond the door…

\---

Gordon tilts his head to the side. Takes his pruning scissors and removes one errant leaf from the tomato plant. A vast aesthetic improvement, which is what makes attractive and delicious food. He nods, then retreats back to the chair he’s set up, complete with sun umbrella and cool drink. A gentleman never sweats, after all.

Just as soon as he sits, though, Mamie arrives, holding a basket.

“I need three pounds of tomatoes, a pound of grapes, at least two nice melons, some herbs, and…what else do you have today that’s really ripe?”

Gordon shakes his head slowly. “No no no, this is no way to address a gentleman.”

Mamie purses her lips and glares at him. With a sigh, Gordon stands again and walks over to the tomato plant.

“This is what I have,” he says, indicating the perfect tomato. Pliant to the touch but not squishy. Crimson with streaks of purple. A paragon of tomatoness.

Mamie looks at it, nods, and holds out her basket. “Okay, I’ll need five or six more like that, then, for a start.”

Gordon plucks the fruit from the vine, and it’s weighty in his hand. The perfect tomato. He places it in the proffered basket, though it is hardly a worth vessel for this pinnacle of deliciousness.

“I’m sorry, but we’ll have to wait for the next tomato. I shouldn’t be more than a week or so. I removed all the lesser, flawed tomatoes from the plant, so only the very best persevere.”

Mamie looks at him, then waves at the rest of the…dirt space. “What about all of those?”

Gordon grimaces. “Those…vulgarities I have quite given up on. A gentleman knows that quality is far more important than gross quantity. That’s why in my quarters I cultivate only a single sponge cucumber plant. To do more would be to admit that I was inadequate to the task of raising the perfect fruit. No, that tomato is as delicious as a hundred tomatoes. A thousand, perhaps. You’ll just have to make it suit your needs. True artistry in the kitchen, after all, is about the height of flavor, not about quieting a rumbling belly. Beauty requires hunger, after all, or else beauty has no cost, and is therefore worthless.”

“That sounds like an eating disorder to me,” Mamie says. “So…I’m just going to take what I need from the rest of the garden and hope you don’t ruin things too much before Barts gets back.”

“That’s most uncouth,” Gordon says. “Those are _inferior_ vegetables.”

“Then fight me for it,” she says, holding up a fist. Gordon raises his hands and backs away. “That’s what I thought.

Gordon retreats to his chair and huffs. Really, this gardening business is easier than even he expected, but for the—hmph—customers!

\---

Barts stares at his field. _What has he done to you?_ he asks himself, looking at the wilted plants, the pest-eaten leaves. Overripe melons practically burst on the vine. It’s…

“A simple job after all,” Gordon declares. “Mamie plucked my prize tomato and a new one hasn’t quite grown back yet, but I think you’ll agree that I did an impeccable job. You have the ledger for the shop?”

Numbly, Barts hands over the book. Gordon flips through it.

“What is this? Condoms? Lubricant? Medicines? W-what have you been doing all week?!”

Barts stares in shock. “What do you mean? I’ve been running your shop, selling general items.”

“The items are just…window dressing!” Gordon shouts. “They are valueless, there to serve as vehicle to bring people in so that you can sell the true goods. You have sold no cologne! No cravats! No fine silken undergarments! A single bottle of cologne carries more profit than all of these frivolous condoms and lubricant. You’re trying to ruin me!”

Barts opens his mouth, looks again at the devastation of his garden.

“No, no, this was a nightmare,” Gordon says. “The winner here is obvious, and yet I can hardly take pleasure in it. No, I will be months undoing the damage to my reputation and profits.”

Gordon shakes his head and then stomps off back toward his shop. Barts picks up his hoe from where he’d left it. It’s been polished, but definitely not used. He turns to follow Gordon, then stops. Taking a deep breath, he turns back to the garden, which needs more love than Gordon needs a thrashing. Though he might take one of the overripe melons and pelt the man in the face with it later. If he hasn’t worked out his frustrations by then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Gordon.


	15. Crossover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bored Selma catches sight of a Renegade near the town of Obel and goes to confront it, not know what it is. Good thing Marica? happens to be in the same place when things get too much. But is it a coincidence, or something else?

A bright day. Selma frowns. She’s been left behind. Again. While Kyril and the others go explore the depths of the ruins in Obel. Everyone else not invited mopes around the town. Not Selma. Moping is not for her. She…broods. On the cliff overlooking the harbor. Yes, she broods, not looking toward the north, toward home. Not wondering why she’s joined up with yet another army. Another band of warriors, almost all of them human.

She sighs and almost looks north, but a movement catches her attention first. A shimmer like…like a tear in the sky, and a…thing comes streaming out. A beast. A monster. Haloed in a strange, purplish light. It shrieks and heads toward the cave nearby. The cave where the Dauntless sits idle.

Selma looks back toward the town. No one seems to be reacting, which means it’s likely no one else has seen it. Which means…no one else will get in her way if she decides to relieve some of her boredom. She smiles and moves toward the cave, pulling out her great sword as she walks.

The cave is dark but the glow from the monster seems to radiate through it, giving everything an ominous purple hue. Selma proceeds slowly but purposefully, not letting fear to reach her. She has battled countless monsters, and always she has come out the victor. She measures her breathing, grip tightening on her sword’s hilt.

The beast attacks from above, and Selma dives out the way just in time, countering with a brutal slash. But even as she feels the blade strike true…something is wrong. The monster is pushed back, crashes into a stony wall, but doesn’t appear to be bleeding. Which isn’t a good sign. It charges her, running at her this time instead of flying. She chops with her sword, expecting to cleave through its skull, but as the swing connects it only pushes the beast’s head down and away, and Selma has to leap to the side to avoid being overrun.

She shakes dirk off her shoulder and squares herself again with the beast, which seems still uninjured, if perhaps a bit confused as well. It doesn’t stop to figure anything out, though. It rushes forward again, and Selma retreats. The confines of the cave won’t do her any favors if she can’t hurt it. Outside, at least she can have more space to maneuver. And maybe she can trick it somehow, push it over the cliff. Even with wings, if it was disoriented enough it shouldn’t be able to pull out of the fall in time to save itself.

It's faster than she anticipated, though, and as she reaches the outside it hits her in the back. Pain laces up her spine and she’s thrown forward, manages barely to roll as she lands. The world is spinning, though, and she can only watch as the beast charges her again. She tries to get to her feet but manages only to rise to her knees. Weakly, she holds her sword in front of her, bracing.

A flash, and the beast crashes to the side. Selma looks up, expecting one of her comrades, someone who might have heard the sounds of battle. But the warrior is unfamiliar…and spectacular.

Wielding an enormous axe, the women fights with a naked fury, her armor strange but her aggression all too familiar. The axe shines in the sunlight, and with a decisive swing, the beast’s head is severed, its neck painting the ground in purple-red ichor. Selma nods, then winces at the lingering pain from the battle, from her back and sides.

The pain dims a bit as the woman turns to face her, smile bright.

“Hey, thanks for that!” she says.

Selma grimaces and looks away. “I did nothing. The beast was impervious to my attacks.”

The woman shrugs. “Yeah, renegades are like that. But I mean, you were able to hold your own, draw it out into the open, and keep it distracted enough so I could take care of it.”

“Rene…gade?” Selma asks.

“Uhh…” the woman says. “…think a beast from another world, imbued with the essence of an entirely different place. That essence acts as a kind of shield. Only people from different worlds can pierce it.”

Selma jabs her sword into the ground and stretches out the soreness from her body. “So you’re saying that…you are also from another world?”

It should sound stranger than it does, but elf mythology tells that all beings might have originally started out as travelers from other realities. That the elves themselves might be refugees from the first world, the oldest, the most perfect. That when it was invaded, destroyed, they traveled through many worlds, leaving pockets of themselves across a thousand different places, a sea of stars, and each one a place where elves yet lived. Of course, it was most often seen as a bit of elven arrogance, and even among the elves not too many took it entirely seriously.

The woman nods and puts out her hand. “Sure am. The name’s Marica.”

“Selma.” They clasp hands, and Selma is surprised by the strength there, though from the look that Marica gives she, too, is impressed by the squeeze Selma gives her.

Anyway, I was really just here because I happened to see the beast fly through a portal and figured I had to help out.”

Selma’s eyes narrow a bit. There’s something of a lie there. Faint, but her ears are very good at picking it out. And then she smiles.

“Uh…huh,” she says.

“What, you don’t believe me about the portal? I can show you if you want. It’s right over this way.”

Selma’s mind races a bit, thinking of all the ways this could go. Should she be angry? Maybe, but she can’t feel anger. More she’s…intrigued. And a bit appreciative of the ruse.

“No, it’s not that. It’s just…it’s very convenient that you happened along as you did. That you saw the beast flying into this world.”

Marica shrugs. “Well I mean it was lucky, yeah.”

“There’s a trick I used a time or two, in my younger, more foolish days,” Selma says. “Because I wasn’t good at talking to people. Especially those I…might like. So I’d set up these traps in the woods, that just so happened to be in the paths of people I was interested in. When they’d fall into them, they wouldn’t be able to lift the cage and escape. But _luckily_ I’d be nearby. I’d hear their cries. I’d lift the cage free, being sure to show off my muscles. And they’d be _rather appreciative_.”

Marica is blushing a bright red. “Well that’s…clever. In a somewhat…underhanded, deceitful fashion.”

“Yes,” Selma says. “The thing is, I’d always give myself away, confess everything. And oh, a time or two the person was so angry they never talked to me again. But most of the time, I’d say they were almost…flattered, when I told them the truth.”

“Oh?” Marica asks.

“Yes.”

Marica bites her bottom lip. “So then, you think that it wasn’t a bad thing? Just…a way to sort of express interest without…doing any harm.”

“Well, my back it pretty sore, so…”

“You want me to rub it?” Marica offers, face still red but smile devious.

Selma grins.

“That would be nice,” she says.

“And then, maybe I could…uh…make it up to you. Show you a whole different world? Take you out to dinner?”

Selma’s turn to bite her lower lip. “You been watching me through that portal of yours for long?”

“A few days,” Marica admits. “You looked so…strong. And…sad. I thought…maybe you could use a distraction.”

And like that Selma loses the last of her hesitation.

“I think I know a secluded spot for that…back rub,” she says, and Marica grins as Selma takes her hand and leads her off toward a grassy and deserted cove that will be perfect for…anything they might get up to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Selma and Marica? would go well together. Just saying.


	16. Cooking Contest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mukumuku doesn't like the way Hai Yo's been eyeing him like a side of beef, and the only place to settle things is in the kitchen! It's cook-off time!

The announcer walks to the middle of the kitchen.

“Hello everybody and welcome! Now let’s get started with today’s cook-off. I will be your host today. My name is Fu Tan Chen. First, I’d like to introduce today’s panel of judges.”

The air of the kitchen stills as attention moves to the judges table and the four people seated there.

“Sir Flik is a man with good common sense. We can expect fair judging from him.”

Flik nods and waves to the crowd.

“Here’s a real carnivore. This boy just loves meat. It’s Shiro!”

Shiro gives a welcoming howl.

“The boy ninja from the village of Rokkaku. He won't admit it, but his weak spot is chocolate!!!”

Sasuke glares, looking like he wants to skin the announcer alive.

"We can expect some harsh and accurate criticism from him. It's Clive!!!"

The gunman stares blankly ahead.

“These four judges will be evaluating today’s dishes!!!”

Cheers from the crowd, then quiet.

“Okay, now let’s introduce our challenger!!!!!! Today’s challenger is!!!!! Chef Mukumuku!!!”

Muku steps forward, flings back his cape, and strikes a pose, fingers making the sign of peace, eyes fiery with determination. In front of him, his assistant, Mikumiku, gives him a solemn nod. Both of them have been waiting for this. For a chance to prove themselves.

“And now the person we’ve all been waiting for. Our army chef Hai You!!!!!”

The lights dim before dazzling spotlights follow the chef in. Muku watches him, watches the dangerous glint in the chef’s eyes. Those eyes that have watched him like he could be a slab of meat.

The competition is simple, really. Mukumuku threw down the gauntlet to prove some things. That squirrels were peers, not food. That Hai Yo is an arrogant jerk who needs to be knocked down a peg or five. That the castle needs to be less reliant on meat for its food. Yuzu might be okay with her furry friends ending up on plates, but it sets a chilling precedent for the furry members of the army.

So Mukumuku challenged, perhaps a little afraid that Hai Yo would just refuse out of spite. Out of disdain to face a squirrel in the arena. But his pride was too great. He even joked that the loser might be made into lunch. And if so, then his smug ass was being served to Feather as a main course.

“The judgement will be based on three dishes. Now please take your places and get ready to cook.”

Muku and Miku have been planning this for months. They’ve tabulated the likes and dislikes of everyone in the castle. They are ready, whatever happens, and then lock eyes and nod. They will show Hai Yo that they are deserving of respect, and not to be ogled like a side of beef. They signal to the announcer.

“It looks like they’re ready. Okay, go ahead and cook. C’mon everybody, let ‘em hear it!”

The battle begins and Muku and Miku move like dancers, slippered feet silent over the stone as they move about their workstations, which have been lowered closer to the ground to accommodate their height. They don’t speak as they move around each other but rather communicate by motion and intent, the two in perfect sync.

On the other side of the kitchen Hai Yo moves with almost deliberate slowness while Riou dashes about chopping and seasoning and cooking. Another reason Muku refuses to lose—he can’t stand that Riou works so hard only for Hai Yo to take the credit. It’s Riou who gathers the recipes, and its everyone else who gathers the supplies. Hai Yo needs to be knocked down a peg.

The finish time almost comes too soon but both sides manage to finish their plating has as the gong sounds. Muku and Miku step back, panting, and bow to each other, and then to the audience.

The time for judgment has come.

“First, let’s see what our judges thought of the challenger’s appetizer…Tomato Salad.”

The judges try the food, chewing in exaggerated bites. They love the spotlight, the suspense, the anticipation that boils the blood of the competitors. And then…

“Okay, show us your scores…”

Flik holds up a 3. Sasuke a 3. Shiro a 2. Clive a…1.

Muku grimaces, but knows that Clive was always the hardest one.

“Not very high score, huh?”

Muku bites back a curse.

“Next, we’ll see how our judges thought of the champion’s appetizer…Meat Salad.”

Muku glares. Of course he’d go for the meat. Everything was meat with that guy. Part of what’s so creepy about him. But Muku doesn’t despair. He’ll prove that vegetables can overcome, despite a literal wolf being on the judges panel.

“Okay, show us your scores…”

Flik is a 3. Sasuke a 3. Shiro a 4. Clive a 1.

“We’ve got some pretty good scores here.”

Muku mutters under his breath. It’s only a difference of two points. But his is bad and Hai Yo’s okay? Hmph.

“Next, we’ll see how our judges thought of the challenger’s main course…Eilie Croquettes.”

Muku smirks. It’s his ace in the hole. Potato based and a huge crowd favorite. But because Hai Yo can’t stand using the recipe of a _carnival hussy_ , he never goes near it.

“Okay, show us your scores…”

Flik holds up a 4. Sasuke a 4. Shiro a 4. And Clive a 3.

Muku stops himself from pumping a fist in victory, but if he can get Clive to like something, that’s a big thing.

“Great scores!”

Muku just nods, and pats Miku on the shoulder.

“Next, we’ll see how our judges thought of the champion’s main course…Pepper Steak.”

The judges eat and Muku can’t watch them tear into the rare steaks. He glances over and sees Hai Yo staring right at him, the man no doubt imagining how large a squirrel steak he could get. Muku shudders.

“Okay, show us your scores…”

Flik is a 5. Sasuke a 3. Shiro a 5. And Clive a 1.

Shit. That leaves Muku still down one. Which means it all comes down to…

“Next, we’ll see how our judges thought of the challenger’s dessert…Nanami Cake.”

Muku holds his breath. This is the biggest risk of the night. The recipe is…unusual. It’s not like Nanami is known as a great cook. But there is a certain haunting beauty to her methods, and Muku knows that sometimes it takes such a risk to manage to really impress people.

“Okay, show us your scores…”

Flik is a 5. Sasuke is a 2. Shiro is a 5. And Clive is…a 5!

Muku can’t help but squeak with triumph. It paid off!

“Great scores!”

And he can almost hear Hai Yo fuming from the other side of the stadium.

“Next, we’ll see how our judges thought of the champion’s dessert…Cheesecake.”

Fuck. Muku feels the sweat on his paw pads. He was expecting Hai Yo to stick with meat to spike him. But this…

“Okay, show us your scores…”

Flik is a 4. Sasuke is a 5.

Muku hisses, bracing himself. Surely, Shiro can’t like…

Shiro is a 4.

Muku invents swearwords to say to himself.

And Clive is a…1.

Muku’s eyes shine wide. Thank fuck for that contrarian asshole!

“The judging is complete. Let’s see how those scores total up.”

But it’s a foregone conclusion to anyone who can count.

The scores unfurl. Hai Yo 39. Mukumuku 41.

“As you can see, the winner’s of today’s cook-off is the challenger, Chef Mukumuku!!!!”

Muku steps forward as Hai Yo sinks to his knees in defeat.

Damn right. And squirrel is off the menu. Permanently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not quite as graphic as my Detective Mukumuku work, but still lots of fun.


	17. Youngsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily has a dream, and something of an underhanded way of trying to make it a reality. Enter the Budehuc Young Person's League.

Emily stamps her foot.

“All right! I call this meeting of the Budehuc Young Person’s League to order!”

Elliot raises his hand.

“First order of business is deciding on leaders. I nominate myself. Anyone wishing to challenge my claim will submit to an arm-wrestling competition, winner take all.”

Elliot waves his hand around a bit.

“Second order of business is dues. It’s going to cost a bit to establish a decent base of operations for the B.Y.P.L., so I’m going to need each of you to pitch in 500 potch so that we can buy supplies.”

“Excuse me?” Elliot says.

“Third order of business—”

“Ex- _cuse me!_ ” Elliot says, and Emily stops, glaring.

“Fine, yes, what is it, scrawny blond-haired boy.” She crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot.

Elliot stands and clears his throat. Emily rolls her eyes.

“Sorry, but what exactly is this about? The poster said there would be cake.”

“Yes, cake!” Shabon shouts.

The room erupts in both agreement and argument.

“And why was _I_ invited?” Mel demands. “I’m obviously more mature than the rest of these…babies!”

“You wish!” Branky says, cackling. “Padding your bra doesn’t count as matur—ahhh owww please no ahhh!”

Mel slams her hand, and Branky’s face, into the wall.

“I, too, am curious as to what criteria you’re using for membership in this…league.” Kidd says. “As far as I can deduce, everyone here is between the ages of twelve and fifteen, with the exception of you, Emily, who has just turned sixteen.”

“Well, there you are, I’m the oldest, so I should be in charge all the more.”

“But you haven’t invited Alia. Or Sharon. Or Thomas. And they’re all sixteen as well. And Hugo isn’t here either, and he’s only fifteen!”

“Yeah, why isn’t Hugo here?” Belle demands.

“Enough questions!” Emily shouts. “The cake will be after dues are paid. Mamie has agreed to provide it, as she’s experimenting for a wedding in Ixsay. But the point is the dojo—I mean the clubhouse! We must begin construction immediately if we’re going to claim space before even more shops open up and take all the good spots.”

“Dojo…?” Sanae asks. “You mean like the dojo you wanted to open but Juan shot you down because it would be too much work?”

“ _Club. House_.” Emily annunciates the words carefully.

“I need to get back to patrol detail,” Cecile says, standing.

“Yeah, and I think Lady Chris needs me,” Louis says, following Cecile to the door.

“The Saint Loa Knights are way cooler than any Young Person’s League,” Melville says, and Elliot and Alanis both nod and move to go.

“I’m not interested if Hugo’s not going to be involved,” Belle says, turning her nose up.

“And I want no part of a club for babies,” Mel says, holding Branky’s hand closed.

“I’ve got paying clients,” Kidd says.

“And I’m not really into manual labor,” Ernie says. “Though if you’d like to know building techniques or brown architectural drawings, do pay me a visit.”

“Cake liar!” Shabon says.

With each departure Emily slumps a bit more.

“Sounds like it would make a great story,” Arthur says. “Check in with me once you get the building done and I’ll write up a feature.”

“I’m not even sure what age you think I am,” young Viki says, “but I’m certain you’re wrong.”

“As your girlfriend, I support your ambitions to open a dojo and become a great martial arts master,” Sanae says. “But I have no desire to actually build it for you. I suggest you speak to Juan again, or even to Thomas, and see if there’s something else that can be arranged. That said, I’m staying for the cake.”

Emily sighs and nods. Of course. She waits for the last two people to leave so she and Sanae can eat cake in peace and commiseration. Only, they don’t move anywhere, and finally she turns to them.

“Aren’t you two going to be leaving, too?” she asks.

“But…” Rico says.

“I thought you said there was going to be a lot of backbreaking, thankless labor and relentless drudgery?” Rody finishes.

Emily frowns. “Well, I mean, yeah, something like that.”

“And cake,” Rico adds.

Emily nods. They really don’t need to rub it in. Yes, it was a terrible idea. Selfish. Mean, even. Expecting everyone else to build this thing for her. To complete a dream she’s had for so long. All because Juan is a lazy ass and doesn’t want to exert himself. No, she shouldn’t have hoped it would be easy to convince a bunch of kids to fund and do the work. Not that she wouldn’t have done her share. But…

She hangs her head. It’s over. She’ll just stay with Juan until she learns what she can and then she’ll go. To find a place that will better suit her. Her dreams. She shouldn’t have thought that these people would—

“Well that sounds amazing!” Rody says. “Lady Estella is always saying how I need to toughen up more. If the building involves a lot of wood, it would give me the chance to commune with it. If I carry a few tons of wood around, maybe I’ll be better able to feel the magic of my broomstick.”

“I really don’t think that’s how it—” Emily tries.

“And ever since we’ve come to Budehuc there’s hardly anything for me to do. Mamie cooks the meals. Sebastian cleans and tidies, and despite how he complains if I try to do it he chases me about with a feather duster! I feel like I’m losing my toughness.”

“Please,” Rody and Rico say together, “take advantage of us all you like!”

Emily looks at them, their earnest faces, their eagerness all contained in their wide, shining eyes. And she feels…guilty? And perhaps a bit bad for them. Like, they need new bosses, new teachers. But then… She thinks of the dojo she could build, the student she could teach, once she overtakes Juan, which won’t be long now.

“All right!” she says. “Then the first meeting of the Build Emily A Dojo League is officially begun!”

Behind her she hears Sanae groan, but Rody and Nico seem genuinely happy. And they even get cake!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suikoden III has I think the most children in it. It's kind of strange just how many young characters it has. Not that the other games don't have children, but III just has SO MANY of them. I've subtitled the game The Children's Crusade because of it, and imo it sort of speaks to the hope of the game, that these characters are going to follow through on the promise of their age, doing what the adults maybe couldn't and closing the cycle the series had been caught in from the start. But yeah, hence why I chose III to focus on for this prompt.


End file.
